Assassins
by Dot Ride
Summary: Max is an assassin. Her world has always been is shades of black and white. That is, until she is assigned to kill Fang. When she is unable to do so, they have to work together, along with a few other friends, to stay alive. Will something more blossom from the time they spend working together, or will the enemy win? Will Max's past stay in the dark? Will the flock stay alive?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi guys! It's Dot!**

**So this is my newest story. It's the first one I've written from third person, so just bear with me. Even though this is my first 3rd person pov story, I still really like it a lot and will try my best to stick with it even though I am the worst updater in the history of writers. I do have the first ten chapters prewritten though, so I'll try my best to remember to update once a week. **

**I'd really appreciate any constructive criticism if anybody has some to offer. **

**With all of that said, read and review!**

He enters the dimly lit room with caution. After all, it is a room full of assassins.

He takes a seat directly in the middle of the room, in between a brute that must be three hundred pounds of pure muscle and a wiry looking fellow twirling a blade in his hands.

The bartender gives him his usual drink and he sits back in his chair, chatting with another regular, The Gasman, who is famous for his killings with deadly gasses, hence his name. They chug a few cold beers and then Gazzy leaves, going on and on about some new mission he had gotten from some rich guy who despises his wife.

Fang sits there alone for a few moments, knowing the seat beside him wouldn't be unoccupied for long.

He is right; it is quickly taken by a small woman, whom he had seen only a few times, with red flowing hair and emerald green eyes sparkling with mischief.

He chats while she flirts, twirling a small lock of hair in her fingers, her eyes undressing him. She speaks with a seductive tone and only looks up at him through her eyelashes, doing all she can to get him to go home with her.

Her efforts are wasted, as he quickly grows bored of her and sends her on her way, declaring that he has a job to attend to. It isn't hard to believe. He is good—one of the best actually—so he usually has rich men and women asking him to do their dirty work.

After she—Lissa, he recalls her name—has left, he orders another beer and sips it with the company of his friend Iggy. They've been friends since before Fang became an assassin, but not before he had become a killer. So he is probably Fang's best friend, but still not trusted enough to know everything.

As they chat, Fang surveys the room, checking to see if maybe the owner, Jeb, was here. Instead he finds a young woman sitting in the back corner of the bar, sipping vodka and categorizing the competition.

She has long brown hair with streaks of blonde. Her tan skin is perfect, not a mark to be seen, which was unusual, considering her profession. People in his line of work always get dinged up in some way, and sometimes the wounds leave a mark. But he doesn't see a scar anywhere on her body. Her eyes are what drew him in, though.

Chocolate brown with just the right mixture of emotions. Mischief, fire, the sadness that is always in killers' eyes plus a little bit more, and his favorite, deadliness. He could tell she was good just by looking at her.

He points her out to Iggy, who immediately swallows his sip of beer – nearly choking on it – and smacks Fang's hand down.

"Don't point at her!" he hisses, "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Chill," Fang says, a small smirk on his usually impassive face. "Just pointing out somebody that could be fun later."

Fang doesn't need to describe what he meant, Iggy knows. They are all deadly killers in this place, you have to be to get in. A perfect place to get a job, and a perfect place to find a companion for the night. Fang is deadly with a gun and even more with a blade, and a complete player.

With you one moment, with another the next, that's his game, and his motto.

"Not with her, unless you think being killed is a good time," Iggy informs his friend, turning away from the girl. Fang turns with him, eager to hear information on his latest prey.

"That's Maximum Ride," Iggy begins, his voice hushed. "Nobody knows her real name. All we know is that she could kill all of us right here, right now." Fang nearly scoffs when he hears the genuine fear in Iggy's voice. She might be good, but she is just a human.

The dark haired man sits back after a minute, digesting what he had been told. "So, they say she's the best?" he asks his companion. Iggy nods. "Well, she hasn't met me yet, has she?"

With that he rises from his chair and strides towards the woman. He blatantly ignores Iggy's protests and doesn't stop until he reaches the empty chair beside her.

"Fang," he introduces himself, catching her attention and holding out a hand to be shaken. She takes it, amusement in her eyes as their hands touch. Her grip is strong enough to alert Fang of the muscle hidden beneath her coat.

"Max," she tells him. "Maximum Ride."

Fang takes the seat without invitation, and places his feet and legs almost uncomfortably close to hers.

It is then her dry amusement transforms to hatred. She gives him an ice cold glare and scoots a few inches away, enough so that the two are no longer touching. She knows exactly what he wants. It is in the alcohol in his breath. It's in the way he leaned closer to her, as if he expects to be kissed. This meeting has already gone from casual to possibly deadly for Fang. She already dislikes and distrusts this man. And dislike is plenty for a death sentence in that bar.

"I saw you from over there, saw you were all alone. I thought that was strange for someone as pretty as you," Fang says, smirk still on his face. Yes, he is smiling and talking more than he usually does, but he feels proud about having the courage to talk to someone Iggy had made out to be so scary. Now that he's close to her he can study her. But she doesn't look like a hardened killer. She just looks like a gorgeous woman that hasn't done much in her life.

"I like being alone. I don't like people who interrupt my alone time. Therefore, I don't like you," she nearly growls, the amusement in her long gone, now burning with a powerful anger.

Fiery, he liked that.

"Aw, don't be like that," he says, moving his chair so that she could smell his cologne. It was faint, which means he is much too close. He knows he sounded like a creep, but he is technically a serial killer—having killed over three people—so he's allowed to be creepy. And it's not like he would do anything against her will. He knows there are awful guys out there that would try, though. He might be a murderer, but he knows that no means no.

Technically everybody here is a serial killer. Well, everybody that he knows. He doesn't know about this woman yet. Yet being the word he smiles at.

"Like what?" she questions innocently, "Like this?" With that her foot slams into his, and her combat boot's heel digs in.

He hisses, trying to pull his foot out from under hers. It was obvious that she isn't hesitant, she will hurt him any chance she gets. You don't earn a reputation like hers for being hesitant, though, so Fang should have suspected something like this might happen.

"Why do you already hate me?" he asks her, composing himself. He's an assassin; she shouldn't have gotten him like that. Maybe he needs to train more.

"Yes, I am a killer," she begins. "But that doesn't mean that I like guys like you." With that she gets up and marches out, and all he can see is her light brown hair swinging back and forth across the back of her leather jacket as she exits the bar. She never even looks back at him.

His body heavy with defeat, he lumbers back to Iggy, who hands him a beer. "Nice try, but nobody can get Maximum Ride," he says in an I-told-you-so voice, tipping back and placing his feet on the bar.

Fang just nods. He is already thinking of a way to break her.

MAXIMUM RIDE

She hurries down the dark streets, trying her best to stay away from the streetlights that cast their light on the pavement. She doesn't like to be seen. Actually, the last thing she wants is to be seen.

As she walks, she thinks about her encounter with the man in Jeb's bar. It is obvious that he's good at what he does (and she means both his job and trying to get woman into bed like he was trying to get her into bed). She could see it in his eyes and the way he wouldn't let her go.

_ Yes_, she thinks with a smirk, _he's good, but not good enough to get me_.

Maximum Ride is untouchable. As both an assassin and a girl. No cops have ever come close to catching her and no men can have her. Well, the very few men that could usually end up with a knife in their backs. Except for—no. She can't think about that. She isn't allowed to think about that. She had promised herself that she would never think, talk, do anything about him again.

As quickly as she can, she regains her composure and continues to walk. While she travels, she wills herself to think of something, anything else. She cannot let herself fall down that path again.

Fang. He's interesting. Not good enough to get her in bed, at least by the skills he had shown her. He must know the rumors that go around the bar. They aren't difficult to hear. Everybody knows them, and everybody is eager to gossip. They all love to talk about how deadly she is, all the jobs she's completed. She can kill them all if one of them makes a mistake. That's why she continues getting better. No matter how hard anybody else tries to best her, she'll always be one step ahead.

But that's not even what interests them most. It's her unknown origin, her most likely tragic backstory that prompts the most discussion. Everybody in that bar has a theory of where Maximum Ride came from, and how she got to be where she is. A killer like her doesn't just appear out of thin air. Something has to have driven her to her profession, and for some reason, every patron at the bar likes to talk about it.

As her feet continue to hit the ground, she lets her thoughts drift. They are now safely away from the subject of – no. She is not thinking of him tonight. She is not letting herself fall again.

With a shake of her head, she tries to banish the thoughts from her mind. When that doesn't work, she begins to count the street lights on the way to her home. It's dull enough that it does distract her. Her mind has been pulled away from the danger zone.

Finally, she reaches the small shack she calls home and enters, flicking on all of the lights—which is really just a light bulb hanging from the ceiling in the first room and a small lamp in the only other room. Now that she is in the comforts of home, she allows herself to relax at least a little bit.

Once she is as calm as she ever gets, she exits the house and enters her small back yard. Her feet take her to a small shed, which she only opens after unlocking the four different types of locks that bar her from its innards.

When it is unlocked, she reaches in and grabs her weapon of choice. Her personal favorite is the bow and arrow, but she is capable of killing with anything from an injection to a gun to a blow dart.

She took the bow to the shooting range full of bulls' eyes and began shooting. Unsurprisingly, she hit the bulls' eye every time. Shooting the weapon is like breathing. It's normal, peaceful even. It calms her more than anything else ever will.

After a few minutes of listening to the slam of the arrows sticking into the bull's-eye, she sets the weapon down. The first time she had ever shot the weapon flies back to her mind. The first time she'd ever touched a real bow.

He had taught her. Max sighs, remembering the feel of his arms wrapping around her as he helped her pull the bow back. The way he'd always plant a kiss on her neck when she hit the target. It felt like he was actually there, quietly telling her how to focus. With a stomp of her foot on the grass-less dirt, she lets her mind wander away from him and back to the target.

Before she shoots again, she glances around the barren, empty yard that is at least double the size of her house. It's empty, save the shed and shooting range, which she uses nearly every day in order to stay sharp. The targets are falling apart and ancient, decaying from years of use.

Somewhere in her mind, she remembers how he helped her plant grass seeds here, telling her that her yard should at least compare to her own beauty. A grimace graces her face as she recalls that event. Damn, she is really doing an awful job at blocking the past out tonight. She really should have finished her vodka back at the bar. Then, maybe she would have been able to succumb to sleep immediately and this pain wouldn't be ripping through her; shredding her from the inside.

Hours and hours later she puts down her arrows and walks inside to rest. She crawls onto the couch and falls into unconsciousness. Her sleep isn't bliss, just a needed time between realities. Even while her eyes are closed she is alert. That's how she stays alive in her line of work.

She is awoken by the ringing of her only electronic—a small cell phone.

"Hello?" she asks with the curt tone she saves for business calls.

"Ah, Maximum," Jeb, the owner of the bar she frequents, answers. "I need you here. There's a woman here who says she won't have anybody but you do this job."

A deep breath readies her for what she's about to do. "I'll be there in a minute."

MAXIMUM RIDE

He's still at the bar. He's aware that this is stupid and that he should leave, but every time he places a foot on the floor he ends up ordering another drink. His mind is a swirling mess, alerting him that he is almost knock-out drunk. Almost. He has to give it to himself; he knows how to handle his alcohol.

Tipping back in his chair, he closes his eyes only to snap them back open a second later. He turns to face the door to see what had alerted him. Maximum Ride, the woman he had wanted to return all night without even realizing it.

The woman doesn't even spare a glance for him. She just hurries straight into Jeb's office and shuts the door behind her. Fang is unable to control his drunken brain and stumbles towards the closed door.

At first he can't hear anything from inside the room, which tells him the people inside are speaking in hushed tones. After a minute, the voices rise to audible levels.

Fang presses his ear to the door, not knowing this would change his life.

MAXIMUM RIDE

"Max, this is Anne Walker, she wants a job done," Jeb says, gesturing to a tall blonde woman who looks like the type of woman you want to babysit your children, not the kind that hires cold blooded killers.

Max nods curtly, shaking her hand.

Anne speaks up. "I want somebody taken care of," she says, her voice steady. Something in her voice makes Max able to recognize Anne as a murderer. There was ice and hatred buried deep within her. "A man named Nicholas Martinez."

On the other side of the door, Fang is falling. That's his name. His real name, anyways. Maximum Ride is going to kill him.


	2. The Search

**Hey guys!**

**Honestly, I did not realize how long this chapter is until I reread and fixed all the mistakes in it. It's nearly 4000 words. So, sorry if you don't like long updates, but this is a long update. **

**And I've decided that I'm going to update on the weekends, either Saturday or Sundays. So if I don't update next weekend, I give you permission to track me down and make me update. **

**Other than that, there's nothing really going on. I have no news to give you guys. Criticism is still appreciated, as long as it isn't given in a hurtful way. Read and review!**

Despite his automatic fear, Fang leans closer to the door. He needs to know what else is going on. The news has shocked the drunkenness from his brain, and now that he can actually comprehend what's going on, he's terrified. He should probably leave, at least try to run but he can't bring himself to move.

"He has," the woman pauses, "angered me. He made a bad choice, one that I didn't approve of. Now the consequences come." Fang's mind races as he tries to remember that voice. Nothing comes to him. He's probably angered dozens of people over the years. Being an assassin tends to do that.

The shuffling of paper can be heard, and he knows Maximum is being handed a file. Usually a file on the victim's whereabouts and history. A good assassin can retell a man's life by a file like that.

"Now comes the important matter. Payment," a voice that is distinctly Jeb announces, and somebody clears their throat.

"I am willing to give you fifty thousand dollars. No more, no less. I expect him dead and delivered to me by the thirtieth," Anne declares, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Call me on this cell phone if you need any additional information or when the job is done. That is all. I expect to hear from you soon."

Fang barely has enough time to get out of the way before the door is pushed open and a blonde haired woman walked out. As if the place is toxic, she walks as quickly as she can out of the bar, refusing to look at anyone or anything. Merely a second later Maximum and Jeb emerge from the office, too, talking almost silently.

After the woman had left, Jeb turns and gently hugs Maximum before returning to his office. Fang gapes. He didn't believe that she would let a man touch her, the boss or not. She had been hurt before, he could tell that much. Whether it was by a tragedy, a death, or a romantic disaster, he could not yet tell. He is determined to find out. Oh, and save his life. But having been through a tragedy himself, that's the second thing on his list.

MAXIMUM RIDE

In the back corner of the bar where nobody can see what she's doing, Max flips through the file, carefully combing through it. She needs every small detail she can get.

_Nicholas Martinez. _

_ Possible whereabouts: Anywhere on the east coast/New England/New York _

_ Skills: Trained with many weapons/Hand to hand combat_

Underneath the words is a small picture, and it gives Max a startling sense of recognition. Those onyx eyes, filled to the brim with emotion. The olive skin, she knows she has laid eyes on it before. Gently, she places a finger on the photo, hoping touch could tell her more. But no. Nothing more comes from the picture other than a bit of frustration as she tries to remember where she had seen that face.

The boy in the picture is young, maybe fifteen years old. A look of indifference covers his face, practically saying that he thinks caring is the stupidest thing in the world. His posture is atrocious, Max notes, shaking her head in disappointment. Again, she swears she recognizes the boy. Desperately, she tries to remember, but nothing solid comes into her mind.

So instead she examines his dark brown, almost black, hair, and green shirt. But her eyes always flickered back up to the dark eyes. They would bring her to the brink of remembrance before slowly backing away.

With an irritated sigh she flips the page.

There are only two more papers in the file, one filled with extensive details on the prey's skill, the other with some of the prey's history.

While the list of skills seemingly goes on and on, the history is unbelievably brief. For a woman willing to pay fifty thousand dollars, she provided sparse information.

Max shakes her head in annoyance and focuses in on the history. His skill doesn't matter much. There's no way he can beat her no matter how good he is.

_ Nicholas Martinez. Born in Boston, Massachusetts. Raised in a small town in New Hampshire by two abusive parents. _

She winces as soon as she reads the third sentence. It always pains her a little to hear about parents abusing their children. Sure, she kills people for money. But at least she knows and acknowledges that she's an awful person. _I'm a shitty person, but at least these people aren't my children,_ she thinks, fingering the page. The thought of what this man has been through should have made her rethink her decision to kill him, but it doesn't. It's simple in her mind. It always has been. She receives money for killing people. There are no ugly shades of gray to confuse her. It's simple and clear, something Max loves. She doesn't have to argue with herself before pulling the trigger. She doesn't have to focus on her history with her victim because there is none. She's doing somebody else's work.

_As soon as Nicholas was 18, he moved to New York City. Trained by an ex-gang member, he quickly became deadly_.

There is more about his skills, and probably why this Anne Walker is pissed at him, but Max has all she really needs to know. Who, where, and skills. History is just a bonus. In a talk, information can be a lifesaver.

Closing the manila material, she heads for the door.

As she walks, she feels eyes following her. Her eyes scan the bar, but all she sees is the few souls who haven't got a job to attend to and too messed up to go home just yet. They all nurse drinks and look depressed. Nobody that sets off her alarms.

She bites her lip before turning back around and exiting the bar at a brisk pace.

Shaking off the feeling of being watched, she strides out of the bar, intent on getting home and getting started on this case.

Her walk is quick. She dodges the crowds of tourists that are out this early in the morning before she manages to make it to the empty street that her house is on. When she does see her home, she relaxes a bit, only loosely holding the file now.

The feeling of home doesn't comfort her all that much, but being alone does. She embraces loneliness, unlike unrealistic people who reject it. You will be alone during at least one point in your life, why not recognize and accept this fact?

As soon as she is seated, she spreads out the file and begins her detective work.

_ This is why I'm a good assassin_, Max thinks, piecing together the man's life_, I already know where to look for this asshole. _

She quickly throws together a bag of clothes, a small pistol, and a few poison laced darts along with the file. She hates not being able to bring a weapon that she likes to use, but her small suitcase restricts that necessity.

"Boston, here I come," she murmurs to herself, gripping the bag in her right hand and keys in her left.

MAXIMUM RIDE

"Wow! Way to be an asshole!" some random dirt bag shouts through the window of his RV, watching as Max weaves through the barely moving traffic with ease.

In response, she flips him off and simply pushes the motorcycle to move even faster.

He must've shouted again, because she can hear his yell fading through the wind. It doesn't matter to her what the middle aged man thinks, she just needs to get to Boston, where she knows she can find the ex-gang member that will lead her to her target.

"Finally," she hisses under her breath as soon as she exits the highway. Sitting on that bike for that long makes her butt too sore. If she could live the rest of her life without touching her butt back to that seat, she'd die happily.

For a second, Max forgets about her job. All she does is look around the city with wonder coloring her face. Sure, she lives in New York City, but Boston is something else. It just feels different. The look, the atmosphere, the sounds; it sure does smell different.

Dismissing the strong sense of amazement, she quickly makes her way through the city. She has only one destination, one purpose, and that is to kill Nicholas Martinez. This man she is searching for will help her do just that. She can't focus on anything other than that until the job is finished.

After a couple minutes of her combat boots hitting the pavement in a strong rhythm, she finds the apartment building she's looking for.

It's a little ratty, but not completely disgusting. The brick walls are splattered with dirt and a bit of graffiti, but they aren't crumbling or in need of reconstruction. Her own home is in much better condition, but that's only because she takes very good care of it. The outside of this building is in need of a good wash, but other than that, it's fine. It doesn't look old or run down, just a little filthy. But that's okay, she can deal with filthy.

The inside of the complex holds the same description as its outside, and so does the employee working at the front desk. Max grimaces before realizing she needs a way to get past this grease ball without actually committing a crime. There's no need to have the police called because she doesn't have the energy to deal with a man in need of a shower. Sighing, she approaches him, her plan already in mind.

"Hello," she drawls slowly to the man at the front desk, "I was wondering if you could tell me which apartment Sam Taylors happens to live in." A flirty smile is delivered to the wide eyed man along with her words. "He's an old friend. He told me which apartment he lives in, but I completely forgot to write it down." A little giggle is added to the end of her performance. Max nearly grimaces, but manages to hold it back.

"O-of course, ma'am," the flustered man stutters. After the clicks of his keyboard he leans forward on his elbows. "Maybe after you see him, you can come see me."

Max bites her lip coyly. God, she hates this act more than she's hated anything in a long time. He is way too close to her. She can smell him a little too clearly. "And do what?"

"You'll see," he leans even closer, closing his eyes and puckering his lips. She nearly vomits.

All Max has to do is roll her eyes and turn the computer screen towards her to see the apartment number. 414.

"I'm going to have to decline your invitation," she says brightly, smiling a devious smile. "But thanks for helping me find my friend!" With that she whirls on her heal and stalks away, gagging at the lingering scent of the man's breath. His salary may be small, but toothbrushes are not expensive.

Up a few flights of stairs, and past a few loud doors, and then she's standing in front of the door, numbered 414.

Without hesitation she picks the lock and enters silently, listening for the sound of Sam Taylors.

Moaning and muffled screams reached her ears, coming from the bedroom. She rolls her eyes. Just her luck. _Great, just what I need_, she thinks, _him and his late night companion_.

But she has never been a coward, so she approaches the closed door, opens it, and says to the woman rolling around the bed with her suspect, "Get out. I only need him."

The shocked woman had no idea what to do. She simply sits there, covered only by some revealing under garments and gapes. It takes a moment before she rises up, gathers her clothes and exits the apartment. Her mouth never returns from its wide open position.

"Put a shirt on," Max instructs once the man's companion has left, throwing the angry man his top. "I don't need to think about what I just interrupted."

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Who are you?" he is outraged, and very close to violence, Max notes. Good thing violence won't work out for him. He looks strong, but muscles won't get him anywhere if his opponent is Max.

"You don't need to know my name. Nor my business. But I do have a few questions for you."

He reaches forward to shove the glaring woman, who is obviously disgusted with him. But she catches his right arm and twists, easily putting him in an arm bar. She's almost grateful he resorted to violence. It's so much easier for her to show him how powerless he is in this position.

"I need to know about Nicholas Martinez," she whispers menacingly in his ear, not releasing her hold. "Everything. Spill, and I'll consider not breaking your arm, along with your neck."

"No!" James spits, pain clear in his voice. "Nick is my boy! I won't ever mess with that!"

"Oh, James, I think you shouldn't ever mess with me, or else something much more painful than your bond with your friend will be broken." Just to show how much control she has over him, she presses down a little harder on his elbow, causing him to groan in pain.

"Let's start with how you met Nicholas," Max suggests calmly, "or maybe where he is now. Either you give me some extensive history, or we can just cut straight to the chase. I would suggest the second option, it involves much less pain for you, and a lot less hassle for me."

The struggling man resists for another moment more before finally giving up and slumping forward.

"I saved the poor kid from a gang fight. Took him under my wing. Trained him, taught him how to survive, how to fight. He stuck with me for a few years before he decided he wanted more. He liked the fight, the struggle for power of the gangs. He said a bigger, more powerful city was the place for him." That was three years ago. He woulda been twenty two."

Max releases her hold on the poor man before whispering, "Good job, James. That was very helpful. But one more question." She moves so quickly that there is no possible way he can stop her. It only takes a minute before he's in a head lock. "What city, would be a 'powerful city' compared to Boston?"

"I don't know!" the man groans, "take a guess, New York City, D.C., think for yourself!"

Max stops dead. "I would strongly suggest not insulting me. Unless you enjoy morgues. Well, you wouldn't be able to enjoy it, you'd be the body on the slab."

"If I had to take a guess, I'd say NYC, but that's just me," he manages to choke out, obviously trying to placate her.

Max releases him for good. "Thank you, you've been helpful. Don't mess up your life, because I'll be back, and with a strong reason to kill you."

With that she turns, opens the window, and jumps.

To him it looked like she'd fallen four stories down, but in reality she had just caught the fire escape and walked down the stairs.

She finds her way back to her motorcycle and sits back down, already regretting it. The hour or so it took to get the information from James was not long enough to erase the feel of the seat on her butt. "Back to where we started," she grumbles under her breath, before kicking the motorcycle to life and speeding back to New York.

MAXIMUM RIDE

"Shit, shit, shit," Fang mumbles under his breath as he paces through the room, his footsteps echoing. He has a deadly, trained assassin coming after him. Yes, they hold the same job, but literally everybody he's spoken to about her has told him she's the best. He's most likely screwed.

Where is she now? Is she watching him? Stalking him? Following him? He glances over at his bedroom door, and at the three locks holding it shut. There are no windows in his room to lock or cover, simply because of his paranoia when he had bought the place, but now the bare walls are finally serving their purpose. Keeping him alive.

Even while he is deathly afraid of the woman, he can't stop his attraction towards her. She's beautiful, and dangerous. Those two traits combined act as a magnet to him. He's slowly being pulled towards her, whether he likes it or not. (He doesn't like it, but that's only because she's going to try to murder him at some point in the not so distant future).

But for now, he'll stay hidden. Off the streets, and away from people. It's the only way he knows for sure she won't find him immediately. At least he'll have time to plan for when she does find him, if she hasn't already.

With that decided, he rolls over, and falls into a restless sleep of nightmares.

MAXIMUM RIDE

"Back to where I started," Max grumbles under her breath, striding past tourists and locals on the streets. The people like her, who disregard the fact that it is three o'clock in the morning.

She sighs, pursing her lips. This is her least favorite part of the job. The gangs. Usually they're involved. Nobody hires a contract killer to murder you for no reason, and a connection to a gang is plenty reason for most people. At least eight percent of her kills have been associated with gangs, so she's used to dealing with their bullshit.

If she's lucky, she'll find her target soon, with a direct lead from East Side, where the scum hung out, and she won't have to deal with the gangs for any longer than what is necessary.

She makes her way through the streets, as they slowly grow darker and scarier. Less people are around as she continues to walk. The tourists are replaced with the homeless. One look of two young men, both openly brandishing pistols is all it takes for her to pick up her pace and slip a blade down her sleeve and into her hand. Her other hand stays firmly planted on the pistol tucked into her waistband.

Finally, she reaches her destination, a ratty old bar, and slips inside.

"Hello," her voice catches the attention of several of the men lounging around in the crowded bar. It's not as congested as usual, but there are still more people than there should be for a Thursday night at three in the morning. "Anybody mind giving some directions? I'm a little lost, and can't find my hotel." Max adopts a higher voice with a more innocent tone. She looks up at everyone with wide, trusting eyes. Honestly, if she couldn't be an assassin anymore, she could definitely take up acting.

A taller, blonde man steps forward. Max immediately notes how badly his need for a shave is before putting a smile on her face. "Thanks! Everybody is so nice here!"

Chuckles ring out through the bar, but the man silences them with just a look. "Alright, little lady," he says with a smile of his own. "I'll help you, but we should step into the other room, it's much quieter in there."

Max tilts her head, nodding as she finally places a name with this man's face. He is Jason St. McCloud, but known as Boss to his gang, the Snakes. He's a speck of dirt that the world really wouldn't miss. Max doesn't even blink as she grips the knife in her sleeve.

They step through the threshold together, one of them smiling like an idiot while the other notably grows quieter. The man doesn't notice, but Max plays in her sleeve, sliding it a little further up so it's completely hidden from view.

"So, pretty lady, where do you come from?" Jason queries, trying and failing to keep the atmosphere light. They both know what illegal activity he is going to try tonight, but only one of them knows how badly he's going to fail.

"Not that far, but the city is just one big maze!" Max lies with ease, keeping her brown eyes wide, feigning innocence.

He lifts his hand to her shoulder, his grip too strong to be friendly. That is his first and only mistake.

In a second, his face is on the ground while Max stands above him, his arm twisted backwards in an arm bar while her knee presses into his back to prevent him from getting up. "Now listen," she hisses, her free hand over his mouth to muffle his efforts to call out. Before she continues, she removes the gun from his waistband and tucks it into her own. "I need to know if you've ever even heard of a Nicholas Martinez."

Jason just lets out a wheezing laugh when she lets go of his mouth. "Nick?" he questions, humor lacing his tone. "That's really all you want to know about?" He lets out another laugh.

Max knows his tactics, how he wants to push her guard away so he can take the upper hand. But she's much too skilled to fall for something so overused. "Yes," is all she says to reply.

"He was here two years ago," Jason says slowly, releasing a little information while he worms his hand out from under his own body to his waistband. Max wants to laugh at his efforts, but continues to listen. "I wasn't Boss yet, but Nick came rolling into town like some sort of Wildman. He killed a few guys then left the East. Said this business didn't have enough dough for him." Jason snickers. "Idiot."

Max rolls her eyes again. He really does think he's going to survive this little ordeal. His hope is a little cute, honestly. It makes her want to laugh. Instead, she says, "So what do you think he did after that?"

When the man doesn't answer right away, Max puts a little more pressure on his arm, earning a groan of pain. "I don't know! He wouldn't tell me! He just said he wanted some job with more money!"

Finally Max is pleased that he doesn't know anything else, so she releases him and allows him to stand. He immediately grabs for his gun, a look of surprise and what seems to be recognition crossing his face when he realizes it isn't there. Recognition of what, Max doesn't know. Maybe that he's going to die?

Within a second Max is back by his side with a knife at his neck. "Thanks for the info," she whispers before dragging the blade across his throat, backing away from the spurting blood. She likes this jacket, and doesn't plan on buying a new one anytime soon.

While he coughs and squirms in an effort to hold onto life, Max slips back out the door, making sure she stays quiet. The men outside hoot and holler and cat call, until they see the blood that isn't her own patterning her face.

One runs at her, while the others all bolt to their boss. Max quickly dodges the smaller, mousy looking man who tries to take out her legs before opening the door and disappearing into the night.


	3. The Target

**So this is the third chapter!**

**I'm actually really happy with the amount of follows and favorites this story has been getting. It's always really nice to know that people are interested in your work and genuinely like it. I'm also really happy about some of the feedback I've been getting for this story. ****The next update will be coming sometime around next weekend. This weekend for me has been extremely busy, and isn't going to get any less hectic, so this is when the update is coming, as this is the only bit of free time I've had since Wednesday night. ****Other than that, there's nothing to say other then everybody who reviews or favorites or follows is amazing.**

**Read and review!**

Max stalks through the streets, quiet and stealthy. Homeless people stare at her a bit as she passes, but other than that she attracts no attention.

Well, she thinks she attracts no attention.

Somewhere in between the land that the gangs control and the land that is dominated by tourists, a young man steps up to her. His eyes flit constantly between Max and their surroundings, as if he's afraid something is going to pop out of the dark. His clothes are dirty and worn down. Everything about him screams 'street kid'.

"Hey," he greets quietly as he steps up to her. "You're the lady from the bar, right? The one that just killed Boss?"

Immediately, Max pulls the gun out of her waistband and has it trained on the boy's forehead. She has no time to deal with this right now. But she does hope that the boy knows how stupid he'd be to try to attack her, especially over something as stupid as the death of Jason St. McCloud. Revenge is stupid; it makes you careless and gets you killed.

"Whoa!" he shouts, backing away with his hands raised. "I ain't looking for trouble! I just want to talk!"

Max doesn't react at all. Her eyes stay trained on the target, as does her gun. "Then talk."

The boy sighs. "You're looking for Nick Martinez, right?" Max says nothing. "Well, if you are, I think I can help you."

Interest sparks inside of her. He may be lying, trying to get her guard to fall, but if he does know something then she needs him to spill his guts. But still, she says nothing. The gun doesn't waver.

"A year or so back, me and my brother were out on the street," he begins, his eyes flitting uncertainly between the gun and Max, "and this guy comes flying in, knocked me out. He killed my brother." The boy's voice quiets a bit. "I figured out it was because some rich bitch didn't like how her husband bought meth from my brother. She got some goddamn killer to take him out, as if that would help her husband's drug addiction," he scoffs as he relives the story in his mind.

"Get to the point," Max hisses, her eyes narrowing a bit.

"I also figured out where the guy lives, but there is no way in hell I'm goin' to try anything with him. From what I've seen, he'd kill me just like that," at the end of his sentence, the boy snaps his finger to demonstrate what he means.

"Give me the address," Max spits.

The boy nearly smiles. "And you'll kill him?"

Max nods.

Slowly, the boy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pen. Max nearly pulls the trigger on him, but manages to restrain herself. "I can write it on your hand or something."

One of Max's eyebrows rise as she snorts. He really thinks she will let him touch her? She literally just killed this guy's boss. Instead, she releases one hand from her hold on the gun and reaches into her coat pocket. A few gum wrappers had been dropped carelessly inside, and she hands one to the boy. "Write it there."

He does as he's told, and speaks one last time before he leaves, "Kill that bastard."

"I will," Max mutters to the boy's retreating figure before continuing back to her bike. Her thoughts travel as she walks. So it sounds like Nicholas Martinez became an assassin. It's surprising, but not shell shocking. Most people in her line of work either learn about the job from a parent, or evolve from the gangs. It isn't difficult to believe that Nicholas ended up as a killer.

But she dismisses those thoughts when she finally reaches her bike. She climbs on, kicks starts it, and smiles as the bike roars to life. Then she drives, ready to complete her job.

MAXIMUM RIDE

Fang lies awake and alone on his king sized bed. It's the first time in a while he's actually been alone. Usually he brings home a girl. It's a nice distraction from his life. But tonight he's alone, and there are no snores of a girl to distract him. All he can do is think. And of course, he thinks about Maximum Ride.

She hasn't found him yet. It's been a day and he's still alive. Thank God. No matter how attracted he is to that woman, he still has the sense to be terrified. Anybody would be terrified if they had Maximum Ride coming to kill them. It's the sensible thing to be.

But still he thinks of her in the wrong way. He thinks of kissing her. He thinks of holding her. Which is stupid, because he should be thinking of killing her. If he wants to live into his elderly years, that's what he has to do. But of course, he's the epitome for perverted assholes. His freaking sex drive is thinking more than he is, and it's a matter of life and death. He's a perverted, stupid, all around sucky asshole.

And he's still thinking about Maximum's eyes!

Frustrated, he groans and throws a punch at the wall. A nice, fist shaped hole is left in the plaster. Fang shakes his hand as he sighs. Goddammit, now he has to fix that wall.

Slowly, he stands and goes to bandage his bruised knuckles. At least the pain is distracting from the thoughts he can't seem to get rid of.

And when the pain subsides, it leaves him thinking a little bit more clearly. Well, he's definitely still thinking about Max's figure, but that's in the corners of his mind. He managed to shut off his perversion when he punched the wall. Now, he's concentrating on staying alive. And to stay alive, he needs information.

Dressing quickly, he leaves his apartment for the first time since he had discovered somebody was coming to kill him. If he wants any chance of surviving, he needs to know everything there is to know about Maximum Ride.

MAXIMUM RIDE

It's five in the morning. Max treads through the streets, holding back yawns as she goes. She shouldn't be this tired. She goes longer than this without sleeping daily. But fatigue is still invading her senses and making her want to curl up in a ball and start snoring on the sidewalk.

As she walks, she tries to convince herself that she doesn't need to sleep. She has a lead. She should follow it, at least try to see if it pans out. But all she can think about is going home and falling asleep.

"He'll still be there in later," she murmurs to herself as she finally reaches the nearly empty street that holds her house. She just needs four hours and then she'll be ready to go. Just a nap.

She collapses onto the couch as soon as she walks in. Yawning, she manages to kick her shoes and jeans off and pull a blanket over her before blacking out.

She wakes up sometime around lunch. A sigh floats from her lips when she sees the time. It's four hours after her planned wake up time. She cannot afford to be sloppy right now, especially not in something as simple as her sleeping schedule.

Like a cat, she rolls off of the couch and onto the floor, and dresses quickly. In just a few minutes, she's ready to go again. That doesn't mean she's excited about getting back on her motorcycle. Her butt is still sore from her long drive last night.

A groan slips from her lips as she slides back onto the bike. Trying to ignore her soreness, she starts the bike and begins to drive. The gum wrapper with the address is gripped tightly in her hand. She glances down at it every few minutes, even though she's already memorized the address. _338 Bank Street, Room 217._

Carefully, she weaves through the roads. They're busy, and more than a few taxi drives flip her off. Being used to it, she ignores it. If these people know how easy it would be for her to turn and pick them off as she drove away, they'd keep their mitts off of the horns.

It doesn't take her long to arrive at the address. When she does, she quietly parks her bike and trots into the building. She doesn't stop to think about the flashy neighborhood she's in, or how people wearing fur coats look at her leather jacket and beat up combat boots with disgust. All she has to do is finish the mission. That needs to be the only thing on her mind.

But as soon as she enters the building, thoughts abandon her.

She's standing in a ginormous lobby. Everything she looks at seems to be lined with gold, or painted golden, or just blatantly made of gold. Obnoxiously rich people loiter around the room, curling their lips in disgust when she walks in. She pays them no mind. It's all she can do not to openly gape at her surroundings. How does anybody afford to live in a place made of gold?

Well, she could, if she didn't give most of her money away. But she always ends up giving the money from most of her jobs to charity, only keeping what she needs to live comfortably. A different charity receives the money each time. Her last case's rewards went to the children in Africa. Before that the cash was dedicated to cancer research. Around the beginning of spring last year, Max spent three cases worth of money on leukemia and lymphoma treatments for children. This was because she had to kill a man whose daughter was cursed with the disease. Sure, that sounds awful, but the man did beat his daughter, and his wife did ask for it.

For a minute, she catches herself wondering if she should keep some of the money and try to live in decadence. But then she catches another one of the glares being sent her way and she dismisses that thought entirely.

After a few moments of gawking, Max continues through the building. She walks up two flights of stairs, preparing herself the whole way up. She needs to be ready for whatever is thrown her way. There's no way to know for sure what's going to be behind the door. It could be her target, if the boy who had given her the information was trustworthy. Or, it could be an old woman with Alzheimer's. It could be a little boy who's more interested in trains than the strange woman knocking on the door. If the boy she had spoken to was lying, then she could walk into an ambush from his gang.

These thoughts are what prompt her to slip her knife into her hand from her sleeve, and to move her free hand so that it rests on the gun tucked into her waistband.

When she arrives at room 217, she only waits a second before knocking.

Scuffling is heard from inside, and then she hears the sound of a body pressing up against the door. Whoever is inside must be making use of the peephole. Max simply steps to the side to avoid being seen.

"Who's there?" a deep, distinctly male voice calls out.

After the voice speaks, Max is sure she hears the sound of a gun being clicked off of safety.

That's why she kicks the door in.

"Shit!" the same voice shouts as soon as Max steps into the room.

She raises her gun immediately, keeping it trained on the man who stands on the opposite of the room. He holds a gun, too, she notes. Great, a standoff. That's just what Max needs right now.

Neither person moves. Max slowly takes in the man's appearance, only to be startled when she recognizes him. This is the man that harassed her in the bar. Seriously, she must have awful luck. Why does she have to meet this asshole again?

But then she catches his eyes. They're so dark she can't make out the pupils. Onyx orbs stare right back at her, so guarded they look like they hold no emotion at all. Even though the boy in the picture showed his emotions through his eyes, and this man looks like he's never felt anything at all, Max can tell that they're the same. There's just something about them. Something that can't be mistaken for anything else. This man is her target.

"Nicholas Martinez?" she questions, tightening her grip on the gun.

His eyes remain the same, no emotion, but the upper corner of his lip lifts into a smirk. "Nobody has called me that in a long time."

Max is about to pull the trigger when he speaks again.

"And you're Maximum Ride."

Max nearly snorts. Is he really trying to talk his way out of this?

"You're the girl that everybody wants to know about," he continues, sounding extremely calm despite the situation. "You're the girl who was so difficult to find out about."

Max opens her mouth to speak, but he beats her to it, "You're Maxine Rider."

Stopping dead, Max's mouth falls open. How does he know her real name? She goes to pull the trigger, just to stop him from speaking anymore, but she can't manage to do it. She's too scared. Just the mere mention of her name sent everything from her past flashing back to her.

Pictures of _him _fly into mind, along with her parents and _that_ night. Suddenly, her breathing is heavy, and she almost forgets to hold the gun up.

All it took was three words to break Maximum Ride.


	4. The Idea

**Hi guys!**

**So this chapter is on time, technically, even though it's like ten on a Sunday night. ****I kind of like this chapter. It's not great, but it isn't god awful either. I have mixed feelings. ****There's really nothing to say in this AN, so I'm just going to say read and review!**

Max is frozen. She doubts she could move even if she wanted to. Her eyes can't seem to leave her target's. She isn't even sure she can blink. At least she's frozen with her gun in the air. If she had dropped it like her shock had almost made her to, she'd be dead.

"How do you know that name?" she manages to choke out after a few minutes.

Fang's smirk deepens into a smile. He knows he's caught her. "I never give away a good secret."

Her resolve should be hardening. She should want to shoot him even more. That name should make her angry, furious. But it doesn't. It makes her want to curl into the fetal position and cry. It makes her want to scream, not shoot somebody. But she needs to shoot somebody. Unless she wants to die.

Tightening her grip on the gun, Max fingers the trigger. All she needs to do is press down. It'll only take a few muscles and a few seconds. So why can't she do it?

She tries taking a deep breath, counting to three, and even recalling the time when this man harassed her. But nothing works. She can't bring herself to shoot him.

"Trouble?" Fang asks after a minute, tilting his head to the side.

Max doesn't reply. All that she can think about is her name and who she used to be. Faces, names, old memories are all floating through her mind, making her even weaker than she already is. They're breaking down the wall she put up between Maximum Ride and Maxine Rider. And if that wall breaks, so does Max.

It's silent while she thinks. She still hasn't move besides the one time she spoke. Neither has Fang. They both just stand there, aiming their weapons at the other person's head.

How long has she been standing here? Max asks herself this question every few minutes or so, but then her mind just returns to slowly cracking into a million pieces. After the thirteenth time the thought crosses her mind, she speaks again. "Why haven't you killed me yet?"

"I could ask you the same question," Fang replies, his facial never changing from the smug smirk. "I mean, you are being paid to do so."

For a second, Max is surprised he knows this. But it isn't difficult to figure out how he discovered this. He might have heard it from one of Max's former colleagues. He might have just seen Max with his file. But Max doesn't really care how he knows that she's supposed to kill him. She just cares about how he knows who she really is. Nobody is supposed to know about that.

"I'm having an inner crisis at the moment," Max spits sarcastically. At least she hasn't broken enough to lose her automatic sarcasm.

Finally, the smugness drops off of Fang's face. It's replaced by confusion. "All I said was your name," he says, and for the first time since the two met, Max is seeing his face without its confidence. He's just genuinely confused.

"For someone like me, that's enough," this is said softly. Her resolve is weakening as she continues to look at him. Her thoughts are wandering too far into the dark corners of her mind, the corners that had been abandoned since _he _had left her. The corners that tell her that life isn't really worth it.

Fang doesn't look like the cocky asshole that hit on her in the bar. He looks like a confused little kid that's never seen somebody in a vulnerable position like this. He looks like a boy watching his father cry. "What happened to you?" he questions softly. His voice is almost kind, despite the gun that he still holds to Max's head.

Max scoffs. "You really think you deserve my backstory?" she lets out a bitter chuckle. "You're most likely going to be the man that ends my life, and you want to listen to my sob story."

Fang shrugs. "Well, when you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous."

Both guns aren't held as tightly, but neither person seems to notice. They just stare at each other, both trying to decipher what the other is thinking. The conversation had been dropped.

After a minute, Max snaps out of it. "If you're going to kill me, could you please just get on with it?"

Surprise colors Fang's face for a moment, as if he forgot that they were supposed to kill each other. His eyes flicker down to his gun, and then up to Max. She can practically hear the gears whirring around in his head. But what is there to think about? It's either kill or be killed.

"What if I don't kill you?" he says slowly, as if the idea was still forming in his head.

Laughter bubbles out of Max's mouth. The idea was just so ridiculous. That's never been an option in Max's life. It's literally her line of work to murder. And it's his, too. So why would he even consider asking the question? And anyways, even if he doesn't kill her, somebody else will. "Then you and I both know what happens to me."

Even if Fang isn't the one to kill Max, she will die. Every assassin that has entered Jeb's bar knows about his policy. It's pretty simple: if you fail to complete a job, Jeb puts thirty thousand dollars on your corpse. This is because he hates it when rich, angry, eager to pay clients are chased away because one person failed to do their job. So to make sure nobody loses a client, he makes sure everybody tries their hardest not to screw up.

Fang is silent. Of course he knows. "Can't you just leave? Run away and hide for the rest of your life?"

Max looks at him as if he's stupid. "You can only hide for so long when there are multiple trained assassins looking for you."

Neither person speaks for a little while. They just stand there as their arms tire from holding up their weapons. But then Max feels the need to break the silence, because her mind is still tearing itself apart, and she needs the distraction. "Why don't you just finish the damn job?"

Fang answers immediately, "Why don't you?"

She knows the answer to the question, but she doesn't want to say it out loud. What is she supposed to say, anyways? That she's broken? That all it took was her damn name to make her unable to do her job? No, she can't say that. So she settles for, "It's a long story. And you?"

For the first time, genuine emotion shows in Fang's eyes. "I can't pull the trigger."

It doesn't make sense, but Max still understands. After all, she can't either.

"Well, you have to."

The man shakes his head angrily. "I'm trying, goddammit!"

Another humorless laugh comes from Max. "Looks like we're in the same boat."

The anger vanishes from Fang as quickly as it had come. He nods, but doesn't speak, so Max continues. "This is probably the stupidest thing I've ever done, but I'm going to drop my gun now."

Slowly, she lets her grip loosen until she's holding the barrel of her pistol towards the ground. Fang continues to aim his weapon at Max. She isn't proud to admit it, but for a second she hopes that he pulls the trigger.

He doesn't, of course. After Max's gun is on the ground, he drops his, too.

Never taking her eyes off of Fang, Max goes and takes a seat on the couch. She angles herself so that she can still see him, though. Just because she's too stupid and too broken to shoot the man doesn't mean she's just going drop her guard completely. It's not in her nature to let go of her paranoia.

"So, what now?" Fang asks after a few moments of silence.

Max nearly rolls her eyes. "I have no damn clue," she abstains from spitting out the words, "I didn't plan this all out, sorry."

Sighing, Fang comes to sit on the couch too. He ignores how Max immediately scoots away from him and towards the end of the couch closest to the exit. "I thought you were the best. Shouldn't you be able to think on your feet?"

The death glare Max sends his way is enough to make him want to take back his words. "Just because I didn't kill you before does not mean I won't lose my temper and kill you now," Max hisses. It's an empty threat, she's still focusing mainly on not screaming and cursing out everybody who has ever hurt her, but Fang doesn't have to know that.

Fang doesn't react to her words. He just says, "That would be one way to solve this problem."

"And another would be?"

Max watches as an idea obviously enters Fang's mind. His eyes widen for a second before he narrows them, deep in thought. Then, slowly, he speaks, "We could kill Jeb."

An explosion occurs immediately in Max's head. Her mind splits into two sides, one arguing that his idea actually makes sense, while the other screams that his idea is easily the stupidest thing that has ever been suggested.

She listens to both of them, trying to ignore the fact that they're voices in her head. One points out that it would stop Max from being killed, while the other reminds Max that Jeb is the boss for a reason. Killing him would be no cake walk. She tries not to bring up her past into the argument, and just look at the simple reasons, but her brain doesn't seem to want to listen. It begins to dredge up her past, so she shuts it down. She has to decide based on the present, not on her stupid decisions that happened years ago.

"And how would we do that?" Max asks very slowly.

Fang shrugs. "I didn't plan this all out either," he quotes.

"Well, I'm not going to agree to that idea unless you have an actual plan."

The same I-have-an-idea look crosses Fang's face. "We could plan it together."

Max snorts. "Right, because I totally want to work with the asshole that harassed me in a bar and might be the reason that Jeb sends out the message to kill me."

"Harassed you?" Fang is totally taken back. "I was just flirting."

"Work on your flirting then," Max suggests a bit snidely, "It comes off as creepy and annoying."

The look Fang shoots her isn't exactly a glare, but it certainly isn't friendly. "I'm not going to argue with you right now," he says.

Max bites the inside of her cheek to keep from retorting. He's right. If this is something that's going to happen, wanting to kill or scream at each other every minute isn't going to help. Even if he is a self-centered dick.

"Fine."

The room falls silent as Max runs over her options again. It's either leave now and try her best to stay alive from whoever feels like making thirty thousand dollars from Jeb, or try her best to kill Jeb so she doesn't have to fight for her life until somebody succeeds.

She doesn't want to die. Well, she wouldn't be too sad if she happened to get shot, but she isn't going to bring her own death upon herself. She's going to avoid it until there's no other option left.

So that's her decision. She's going to fight.

"We'll need a plan," Max says, breaking the silence.

Fang cracks an almost-smile. "So that's a yes?"

Max sighs. "Yea, I guess."

The almost-smile grows into an actual grin. The first one Max has seen that hasn't been arrogant or smug. "We can work now," Fang offers.

With a shake of her head, Max stands. "I'd like to go home and pretend I didn't just make a stupid decision," she declares before slowly bending down and picking up her gun. Loosely, she holds it in her hand as she backs out of the room. She makes sure to face him the entire time. Trust is not something she shares with that man yet.

"Wait!" Fang says as she reaches the door. Max nearly raises her weapon, but restrains herself. "Can I have your number, so I can get in contact with you?"

Pretending like that didn't sound like a middle school boy asking for her phone number, Max quickly keys the number into the phone Fang offers her. "Tomorrow, we'll talk," she promises before leaving as quickly as she can.

Her mind screams at her as she walks out of the building. Part of it is still breaking down, reminding her of _him _and what he did to her. Another section is reprimanding her for not just killing Fang, and then the rest is asking her why the hell she wants to kill Jeb. All in all, Max does not like where her thoughts are at the moment.

The whirlwind in her mind doesn't stop even when she reaches her apartment. They don't stop until she enters her bathroom and opens the medicine cabinet. They don't stop until she reaches for the pills that she hasn't touched in a long time. They're the painkillers that she got right after what _he _did.

She taps two into her hand before swallowing them dry. Then, as her mind finally quiets, she lies down and falls asleep.


	5. The Bar

**Hi guys!**

**So, I'm late. I didn't update last weekend, I am so sorry! I had a soccer tournament in Boston, and I had no time to update. I was too busy freezing my ass off in the snow. **

**But I'm back this week! And I promise to update on time next weekend too!**

**Other than that, I have nothing to say other than read and review!**

Max is crying when she wakes up. At first, she doesn't even realize it, but then a salty tear falls into her mouth. And then she's sobbing.

The tears feel alien. She hasn't cried in a long time. Not since _he _left her. She promised herself then that she would become her new name. She would become Maximum Ride. And Maximum Ride does not cry.

So why is she sniveling now? Nothing especially painful has happened to her. Sure, she has to kill Jeb, but she kills people for a living. It might suck for a while, having to deal with the loss of the only father figure she's ever really had, but she'll get over it. And besides, after his part in those awful events, it might actually feel a little therapeutic to watch a bullet lodge itself inside of his skull.

Yet she's still bawling.

Shuddering breaths make her chest rise and fall quickly. Is she getting enough air? Her eyes widen as this thought hits her? What if she isn't getting enough air? What if she's dying?

But just as soon as the panicking began, it ends. Max's shuddering breaths slow until they're deep and calming. Tears still flow freely down her face, but at least she can breathe.

She still doesn't understand why she's crying though. It isn't the fact that she is going to try her hardest to kill Jeb. So is it the fact that she didn't kill Fang? That she's going to work with him?

It's confusing, being forced to trust that man, but not depressing or enough to make her cry. Confusion doesn't cause tears.

But she is confused. Why is she trusting Fang? Why didn't she pull the trigger? On the list of things she's fucked up, this ranks pretty goddamn high.

Fang was interesting though. A major asshole, sure, but still interesting. She couldn't help the intrigue that plagued her when she saw the mask of smugness and arrogance break. Fang is a puzzle that she wants to solve. And the first piece of the puzzle involves figuring out what made her trust him. It definitely wasn't any of his traits. Nearly everything that man has ever said and done screams jerk. She should have felt a little bit of satisfaction killing him. Instead, she couldn't kill him at all.

What was wrong with her? All he said was her real name, and she shattered. She should be stronger than that. She should be able to hear about her past without nearly suffering from a mental breakdown. If anything in her messed up life is going to work now, she has to stay strong, not become a blubbering mess that sobs at the mere mention of the past.

But she's still crying.

A small, broken sound exits her mouth when she tries to take a deep breath. Even though she has no clue why, this makes her break down yet again. The tears that had begun to slow speed up again, until they're falling into her mouth and dripping onto the floor. Her nose is stuffed and makes it even harder to breathe. Something in her chest is making it tight, and causing her to draw in short, choppy breaths.

"I can't do this right now," she whispers to the empty room.

She repeats those six words as she stands and walks to the bathroom. She repeats them as she counts three of her painkillers and pops them into her mouth. The only reason she stops is to shiver as she feels the pills slide down her esophagus.

It takes a minute, but the calming, woozy feeling that the pills always bring settles over her, making her feel lightheaded. She half walks half stumbles back to the couch before lying down and closing her eyes.

Some tiny, quiet voice in her head whispers that this addiction might be the thing to kill her one day, but Max ignores it. It'd be an ironic death. She's done so many dangerous things, and will do more that could get her killed, but the leader in the race of things to kill her is a small bottle of white pills. A bitter, tired laugh leaves Max's mouth before she falls back asleep.

MAXIMUM RIDE

Fang needs a drink. A vodka, maybe. He really needs to lose his thoughts and the annoying feeling in his chest.

The weird part is that the feeling in his chest isn't painful. It doesn't feel like his heart is trying to rip itself apart. It simply feels warm. Maybe even a little soothing. And because it is so close to comforting, it annoys Fang even more. Why the hell does he have to feel this way? Shouldn't he be terrified? Shouldn't he be worried that one of the deadliest people he knows of is either working with him or plotting to stab him in the back? Why is he stuck with a comforting flutter in his ribcage instead?

Is it Max? Is it that woman making him feel this stupid flurry of warmth in his chest? Fang sighs. It can't be. He just met her a few days ago, and for most of their time together, she was trying to find and kill him. So it doesn't make any sense that she is the cause of the feeling.

He should really get up. He's been sitting on the floor with his back against the couch for what, six hours now? Going to the bar and snagging somebody to go home with him might help, but he can't find it within himself to go. Hell, he can't even find it in himself to walk into the kitchen and grab the bottle of whiskey he has in there.

It's pathetic, really. Less than a week ago he killed a man who embezzled millions without blinking. Now, he's sitting on his floor, thinking about some girl he barely knows.

_Get up,_ he commands. But when he straightens up and pushes himself to his feet, all he ends up doing is falling onto the couch and closing his eyes. And then he resumes thinking about Maximum Ride.

MAXIMUM RIDE

The clock reads seven when Max wakes up again. Deciding that seven is an acceptable time to head back to Jeb's bar, Max stands and tries to shake off the feeling of the pills. She doesn't need to feel dazed nor have her senses dulled. Only when she knows she's alone and she can't deal with the pain at that precise moment does she go to the little orange bottle.

As she dresses, she tries her hardest to forget what had happened. She just needs one more night to pretend her life hadn't been shot to hell.

Clearing her mind isn't too difficult. The pills are still wearing off, so her mind feels lighter than it usually does. Her senses are back to normal, but her mind is still a little behind. That's fine by her, as long as it helps her deal.

But the effect doesn't last long enough. Somewhere between her house and the bar, Max begins to notice everything again. She notices how a stranger holds her gaze on Max for a second too long. Max notices how the pools of light cast by the streetlights are following her tonight, not allowing the shadows to swallow her like they usually do. All of these things send her paranoia back up to its normal level. Of course she can't pretend anymore. She can't fool herself into being normal, even for just another night.

That isn't going to stop her from trying, though.

She makes a dash to the bar as soon as she enters. Eyes follow her, as they usually do. Everybody knows who Maximum Ride is, and her appearance never goes unnoticed. Max just doesn't care tonight.

The second her ass is on a chair, she's ordering a shot. And as soon as that one is gone, she orders another. After her third, she slows a bit and orders a scotch.

As she sips her drink, men begin to approach her. Max dismisses them quickly, usually with a roll of her eyes and a quick 'no'. But then she orders another drink, and her world begins to spin. And accepting somebody's invitation to go home doesn't seem like such a bad idea anymore.

Max is giggling more than she should be now. She finds some guy named Sam so funny, even though she realizes his jokes are corny and his pick-up lines are overused.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asks after a few minutes of conversation.

It's a legitimate question, Max decides. It deserves serious thought. But as soon as she begins to actually think about it, she can't help but giggle. And then she's concentrating on not laughing instead of the question.

"Um," Max gets out between drunken giggles.

That's all she gets out before a much deeper, more serious voice is speaking up. "Get lost, asshole."

The giggles are shocked right out of Max. Who was talking now? She can barely focus on what Sam is saying, and now she has to listen to someone else?

"Dude, I'm just talking to her," Sam's eyes are angry as he turns towards whoever had spoken.

"Well, you need to stop talking to her and get the hell out of here."

Max turns too, only to nearly bump into a chest clothed in a black leather jacket. A giggle escapes her mouth for a second before she controls it.

"Whatever," Sam spits before walking away, muttering curses under his breath.

As soon as Sam is gone, Max looks up at the other man. She has to squint in order for his face to come into focus. After a second, the blurriness clears, revealing an annoyed face with dark eyes. "Fang!" she exclaims, surprise in her words. "Why are you here?"

Fang just sighs. "I wanted a drink, and apparently, so did you."

Max nods earnestly. "I didn't want to think anymore," she says honestly, her voice lighter than Fang had ever heard it. She's still on the verge of breaking into laughter.

"I'm taking you home," Fang shakes his head. "Come on."

The light, happy look on Max's face is immediately replaced with a pout. "Why?" Max's voice is nearing whiny.

"Because you're drunk."

"I don't want to go home."

"Sucks."

Max sighs angrily before crossing her arms over her chest. But she still stands when Fang gives her a look.

He leads her out of the bar, making sure to keep a hand on her shoulder so she doesn't fall over. Even with the support she's stumbling around like a child learning how to walk.

"Max," Fang asks, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, "Where do you live?"

A thoughtful look comes onto Max's face. "In New York," she decides after a moment of thought.

Fang sighs again. Of course she's so drunk she doesn't even remember where she lives. "Fine," he says, still trying to figure out what to do. "We'll just go to my place then."

Max grins at him. "Do you have any grilled cheese there? I'm hungry."

Fang almost laughs. The woman who was supposed to kill him, who has killed numerous people before, is standing in front of him, drunk, and asking for grilled cheese. It's so absurd that it's funny. "Sure, Max."

They make it a block or two before Max almost falls into the road. "Carry me," she demands as soon as she's standing again.

A groan exits Fang's mouth, but he picks her up bridal style anyways. "You're a pain in my ass," he informs her, "And you're lucky that I need you, or else you'd be going home with that asshole."

Even as he says the words, the feeling in his chest is pumping through him, warm and strange. It got stronger when he entered the bar and saw Max. What the hell is it? High cholesterol?

Fang carries Max all the way back to his apartment. The woman at the front desk smiles at him, probably remembering when Fang had taken her up to his apartment last week. But as soon as she sees Max in his arms, her smile falls off of her face and she huffs angrily before turning away from him and towards her computer. The gesture was probably supposed to mean something to Fang but doesn't.

Max is nearly asleep in Fang's arm as they ride the elevator. As soon as they enter the apartment, she is asleep. Fang tucks her into bed, sighing as he rolls out his shoulders.

"Pain in my ass," he mutters as he looks at the sleeping girl, but it's said with a small smile.

Only a few minutes later, Fang is nearly asleep on the couch. He wants to be in his bed, but he also doesn't want to get punched in the face when Max wakes up in the morning and finds him in the same bed as her.

So he sleeps on the couch instead, trying to will the feeling in his chest away.

MAXIMUM RIDE

The bed is too soft. That's the first thing that Max realizes as soon as she wakes up. It takes her only a second to understand that she isn't in her own house.

She jackknifes into a sitting position, only to fall back down when her head pounds. Wonderful, she has a terrible hangover. Just what she needs at the moment.

She stands, slowly this time. Where the hell is she?

"Max," somebody calls from another room. "Is that you?"

She doesn't answer; she still doesn't know where she is.

But then Fang enters the room, shirtless and with bedhead. Max's eyes widen as she sees him. Did she so what she thinks she did last night?

Even as the thoughts fly through her head, the only thing she can manage to say is, "Shit."


	6. The Plan

**Hi everyone!**

**So here's the weekly update! It's an okay chapter. I don't hate it, but I don't love it. **

**But I've loved the reviews and follows and favorites I've been getting! I really appreciate all of them, even the two worded ones. Everything helps motivate me and make me feel good about my writing, so thanks to everybody that reviews or favorites or follows. **

**Other than that, I have nothing to say. The next chapter should be up next weekend. **

**Read and review!**

"Shit," she repeats again after a moment. She runs a hand through her hair, pushing the loose strands out of her face. Yes, she wanted to get drunk last night, and she's pretty sure she completed the task based on how little she remembers and the pounding in her head, but she never thought she's get drunk enough to go home with Fang.

Fang just looks at her for a second, obviously trying to understand what was running through Max's head at the moment. When he fails, he just ends up asking, "What?"

Breathing out a sigh, Max shakes her head, only to groan when that makes her headache worse. "I knew I was going to do something stupid when I decided to go to the bar last night, but I didn't think I'd do someone like you."

Fang is automatically taken aback. "You think we hooked up last night?"

Max just nods. Talking was too loud.

"Max, look at yourself. You're still fully clothed. For God's sake, you still have your shoes on."

Her eyes finally break away from Fang's so she can take in her own appearance. He was right, all of her clothes were still on, just a little disheveled from the time she had spent asleep. Even her combat boots were still on, even though the lace was nearly falling out of the right one. Ignoring the urge to bend down and fix it, she brings her eyes back up to Fang. Even if they hadn't slept together, nothing about her morning is making any sense.

"Then why did I wake up in your bed?"

Fang sighs but answers anyways. "I took you home when you got a little too drunk last night. You were about to go home with some guy when I got there."

It takes a second, but the last night starts to come back to Max. She remembers crying, sleeping, and then going to the bar. She definitely remembers her first few drinks, and then things start to get hazy. She had started to talk to some guy, Seth or Sam or something along those lines, but Fang had interrupted as if he thought he was some sort of hero or something.

In a minute, Max's disorientation is replaced with anger.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she spits, ignoring the pounding of her head and the warning her stomach is trying to give her.

Fang takes a step backwards, his eyes widening in bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"

Seething, Max hisses, "I am an adult! I know how to handle my alcohol!"

Still confused, Fang says, "You were about to go home with some guy while you obviously weren't in the frame of mind to make decisions like that!"

Max snorts at that. "I wasn't about to pass out, and I knew what I was doing when I started drinking! If I went home with him, it was because I wanted to!"

Fang begins to splutter, but Max continues to spit out her words, "You are not a hero, Fang. All that you rescued me from was an awkward morning with a stranger."

While Fang stands there, speechless, Max begins to move towards the door. Her head is still pounding, but she's much too proud to ask for aspirin or coffee.

Her fingers are grasping the doorknob when Fang finally gathers his wits and speaks up. "Max, come on!" he says, turning and trying to catch up with the fuming woman. "I'm sorry!"

Max pauses. The apology had surprised her. Fang did not seem like the type of guy who would apologize for anything, especially when he thought what he had done was justified. That thought was what made the idea of him begging for forgiveness so appealing.

She waits just long enough for him to reach her. He lightly places a hand on her shoulder, although he drops it when she flinches. "Max, I'm seriously sorry," he says, his voice not quite apologetic, but not emotionless or smug like usual. "I thought I was being a good guy."

Humorlessly, Max snorts. "No, you were being a dad."

"And I'm sorry."

Deciding that forgiving him would be easier, Max releases her hold on the doorknob. She has to forgive him if she wants to keep breathing. There is no way in hell she is taking Jeb down alone, and nobody other than Fang is willing to take the job. Nobody is crazy enough.

"Fine."

With that said, she turns and stalks back into the room. Without looking back at her companion, she asks, "Where can I get an aspirin? And a cup of coffee?"

MAXIMUM RIDE

The two end up seated at Fang's kitchen table. It matched the rest of the décor of Fang's apartment: white and I-asked-for-generic-at-Ikea. Coffee is brewing, and Max had downed a few aspirins, which calmed her down and helped her headache. What she really wants is her painkillers, but she took two yesterday, and she's just messed up, not suicidal. Taking too many will hurt her. And she doesn't want that. Not yet, at least.

Now that she's calmed down enough for the fury to simmer down, she can think properly. And thinking properly has only led her to confusion. Because as soon as she had been able to think straight, she had realized there was a strange feeling pumping through her chest. It was warm and made her want to hug something, which was strange and unwelcome.

And it scared the shit out of her.

It's too similar to what she felt for _him _but it can't be the same because nobody is like that man. Well, she hopes nobody is like that man.

But it can't be the same, because there's no way in hell that it's love. All of her love is stale and useless by now. She had harvested it all up inside of her, too afraid to ever give it away. There's no way she was feeling it now.

So she dismisses it entirely, and decides to pay no attention to the feeling at all. She'll allow it to become a dull throb in her chest that means nothing to her. After all, she did the same with the pain that plagued her after what happened. She just stopped paying attention to it, and now it barely registers at all.

"How do you like your coffee?" Fang asks, stunning Max from her thoughts.

"Black."

A second later, a steaming cup of coffee is placed in front of Max. Ignoring the way it burns her hands through the mug, Max takes a long sip. It was hot and helped rid her of the nauseous feeling in her stomach.

Fang sits across from her, an identical mug in his hands. Neither of them knows what to say, so silence ends up speaking. But it's still comfortable.

It should feel awkward. After all, Max just woke up in his bed, yelled at him, and then almost stormed out of the apartment. But it was comfortable. It felt like she had known him for a long time, and they had spent many mornings just like this, sipping coffee in silence. It shouldn't be like that. She should've left after she had yelled at him. Now, she wants to ask for another cup and stay longer.

That isn't a good idea. Just because she's going to be working with this man, doesn't mean she should trust him. After all, it is still her job to kill him. And he might still want to protect himself and kill her. But she still feels trust surging through her veins when she looks at him. And she wishes desperately that she could banish it, but she can't. She's beginning to actually like this man, even if he is a major asshole.

"I should probably get going," Max says after she's finished her coffee. Reluctantly, she stands and places her empty mug in the sink.

Fang nods, ignoring the urge to protest. That urge shouldn't even be there in the first place. He shouldn't want her to stay unless they were going to get actual work done, which didn't seem to be the case for today. So why is there a voice in his head whispering for him to stop her from leaving?

Fang just sits there while Max walks out of the apartment. When the door slams, signaling Max's departure, he nearly flinches. After a minute, he just takes the last sip of coffee, places his mug next to hers in the sink, and sits back down at the table.

He wants to chase her down the hallway and ask her to stay. He wants to talk to her, which is possibly the strangest thing for Fang to want, considering talking is one of his least favorite things. He just wants to be with her.

Sighing, he dismisses the thoughts and lets his head fall into his hands.

MAXIMUM RIDE

She's crazy. Absolutely insane. Positively senseless. What the hell was she thinking?

Why had she sat in Fang's apartment, sipping coffee and looking into his eyes as if they were a goddamn married couple? Why hadn't she just left? Why hadn't she wanted to leave?

She's sitting in her house, raging silently to herself. All of the sadness inside of her that had built up from hearing her name had mutated into anger. She wants to hit something. Without a thought, she slams her hand into the table. Satisfaction runs through her when she hears a crack and some of her pent up anger is released.

She wants to do something to take her mind off of her feelings, but planning to kill Jeb feels too morbid, drinking is definitely off the table, and she has no other ideas besides those two things. A little pathetic, really.

After a minute of thought, she decides to go out to her shooting range and try to distract herself. It might not work as well as the painkillers do, but at the moment, the only thing the painkillers could do would be relieving her headache. She wouldn't forget about her past for a few hours, she'd simply get rid of the pounding in her skull. And why would she waste the pills if all they'd do was their job?

So she just stalks to her backyard and grabs her bow.

The dirt is packed into a clear path when she steps outside. There is a patch of dying grass, which Max turns away from as soon as it catches her eye. It's the last of the grass he had planted with her. She wants it gone.

The smooth feel of her bow is comfortable, and she embraces the tranquility it gives to her. This is normal for her, unlike waking up in a man's apartment. Although, for the first few weeks after _it_ happened she slept with every man that moved and bought her a drink; which was more men than she'd like to admit. She had wanted to rid herself of the feel of him. Any other man's hands would do, as long as they didn't resemble his. She slept with anything different than him.

With a sigh, she releases the arrow, and watches it bury itself in the center of the target. Welcoming the peace that flows through her, she shoots two more in succession. They land less than a centimeter to the left and right to the first, making her smile.

The headache is fading, and she can now walk without feeling her stomach turn. Her skull no longer feels like her brain is bouncing back and forth between it.

She goes to her punching bag next, where she goes when even the painkillers don't make her feel numb. She can lose herself here; bring out all the pain on the heavy, black bag.

Kicks and punches and elbows and knees fly at the material, stinging her skin enough to make it red. But she doesn't care. She doesn't even notice, really. It is making the feeling in her chest fade until she can only focus on the sound of her skin hitting the surface of the punching bag.

She hits her stopping point after sweat is dripping down her skin, staining her shirt, and her body aches. Her fingers feel odd when she stretches them, as they had been curled into fists for hours. Massaging them, she reenters her house and pulls on a simple pair of leggings and a sweatshirt that was given to her by _him_. Usually, she would throw it away with disgust, but today she couldn't care less. She wants to forget; to sleep; to do anything but think.

Her slow breathing gently reminds her how tired she is when she sits on her couch. For a second, she finds herself comparing it to Fang's bed, and how much more comfy his bed is. It was warmer and softer, and didn't smell like the whiskey she had spilt on it the other day.

She shakes her head. She doesn't need to think about Fang right now. When she does, the weird, warm feeling returns to her chest. She's beginning to both hate and become accustomed to it. It had been years since she had felt it for real, and now here it is, appearing out of the blue for someone that she is supposed to kill.

No, she's just eager to give it away. That's what it is. That has to be what it is. She can't really feel anything, much less what she felt for _him_, towards the man she formally met a day ago. It's impossible.

Yet, here she is again, thinking about it. What the hell is she doing? This is slowly becoming pitiful. _She_ is becoming pitiful. It's like she is a teenager with a crush, and it's getting so that it's running her life.

Maybe she should just sleep. Maybe she should get that bottle of vodka from her kitchen. Maybe she should take a few painkillers. She runs through options in her head, dismissing them as quickly as they come. One seems too foolish while another just doesn't feel right. She wants to do something but everything feels wrong.

There was a time she lived without a single regret. Where did that go? Why is she so different now?

There seems to be a lot more questions than answers for Max, so she lies down in order to go to sleep like she always does when life becomes overwhelming. Usually it's just a simple mechanism in order to stay alert (a tired person can't watch their back well), but when her brain goes haywire like this, it's helpful to stay sane.

Sleep doesn't come, of course. Her eyelids would begin to weigh her down, but they would refuse to close after a moment of complete exhaustion. After what seemed like a lifetime of this cycle, Max shrieks in frustration.

"I just want to sleep!" she screams at her empty house. "Why can't I sleep?" she falls back to the couch after a moment, burying her face in her hands. She feels broken. She feels abnormal, and scared, and all of the events of the past day finally crash down on her.

If she doesn't succeed, she will be hunted down by her past friends. The man that had been like a father to her would try to kill her. So she has to kill him, right? She has no idea. She feels hopeless and confused and lost. The warm feeling would be better than this, she decides, and picks up her phone.

There are countless numbers in it, including past clients, assassins that she had worked with in the past, Jeb, and finally she gets to the one she wants. Fang.

It rings three times before he picks up. "Max?"

She bites her lip. Why did she call him? Was it because she had been freaking out? Even then, why is he the one she turns to for help? Usually, she'd just go to the bar and watch all of the people scramble to get laid, which she finds slightly entertaining and hilarious.

So why did she call Fang?

"Yea," she replies after a moment. "Uh, I just think we should actually get some work done," she stammers, stumbling over her own words. God, she sounds like a stupid teenager. What happened to her?

"Yea," Fang says, sounding surprised that Max had called. "Do you want to come over? We could plan over here. You know, actually get some work done instead of yelling at each other."

_I want that_, she realizes as shock coats her senses. Why does she want that? Why does she have so many damn unanswered questions? "Yea, I guess that works," she answers after a full moment of the battle within. She has calmed herself enough to speak smoothly, and she kind of sounds like her old self again.

"Alright, come on over," Fang says, hanging up not a second later. It is simple for him; he just decides and moves on. Like Max used to.

She stops herself from screaming at the empty house before clicking her phone off and beginning to walk.

She should not want to see Fang right now, but she does.

Oh, and there's that warm feeling.

Great.


	7. The Recruits

**Hi guys!**

**So this chapter is technically on time, even if it is at ten on a Sunday night. **

**Oh, and happy Easter if you celebrate it, and if not, happy Sunday!**

**My Sunday was crappy, simply because The Walking Dead was not on, and that is my favorite show next to Supernatural. But I hope you guys had great days!**

**This chapter is okay in my opinion. Not great. I don't like it as much as I like last chapter, but it doesn't suck. Other than that, there's nothing to say**

**Read and review!**

Almost nothing had changed since the last time Max had been to Fang's apartment. The bed was still unmade and their mugs were still coffee stained and sitting in the sink. The only difference she noticed was the half empty bottle of whiskey on the counter. Either Fang had gotten thirsty or he had gotten a visit from an alcoholic fairy.

"Hi," Fang said when Max entered. His voice was void of emotion, but there's no smug smirk on his face, which helped Max relax a bit. The smirk meant he was going to hit on her.

"Hey," Max replied with a nod of her head. The stupid feeling in her chest was back, and it was making her uncomfortable. _Ignore it,_ she reminded herself along with a deep breath.

"So how the hell do we do this?" Fang asked after a moment.

Max shrugged. "We treat it like every other job we've done."

Fang stared at her for a moment before speaking, "Then let's get to work."

MAXIMUM RIDE

"This is impossible," Fang muttered angrily after about two hours. "This can't be done."

Max shook her head, but she was getting close to agreeing. Every option they looked at wasn't going to work. Jeb was the boss, and you don't get to the top without making enemies. So he was paranoid. And his security showed that. It didn't help that he was the best at what he did, even better than Max. He did train her after all.

"How does this man piss without setting off the sensors in his goddamn office?" Fang grumbled, flipping through a few of the blueprints that showed the security.

Max shrugged. "How did you even get those?" She knew the approximate locations of sensors and things in his office, she'd been in there plenty of times, but she didn't know them all, and she didn't know them well enough to make a blueprint of them.

A mischievous look entered Fang's eyes. "People owe me favors."

"That sounds safe," Max muttered under her breath but she left the subject alone after that.

They worked in silence for a little while longer until Max gets frustrated. "This is impossible, you were right."

"No," Fang's voice was as close to excited as his voice could get. "I think I have an idea."

Max's eyes flashed up from the paper she was looking at. Her eyes were wide as she looked at Fang.

"These vents don't have any sensors," Fang began, but Max interrupts.

"We can't climb through vents, Fang." Max's voice was annoyed and had a 'duh' tone to it.

"I know that," Fang said defensively. "But other things can go through them."

The gears in Max's brain began to whir. "What do you mean?" she asked, even though she already had a pretty good idea of what he was going to say.

"If we can't reach him, maybe some poisonous gas can."

Max made a sound of disbelief. "Unless you know how to weaponized gas, we can't do that. And wouldn't it kill the people in the bar, too? Gas doesn't just stop after it fills one room."

"No we could make it work," Fang argued. "I know how we can."

Max was getting annoyed. Was his ego really going to stop him from admitting that his idea sucked? "And how is that?"

Fang mumbled something under his breath, which sounded a lot like profanity to Max. Then, louder, he said, "You're not going to like it."

Max was officially annoyed. "What is it?"

Fang took a deep breath before he spoke. "I know these two guys who know bombs and gas like the back of their hands."

"No."

Fang sighed. "Do you want to kill Jeb or not?"

Max had been asking herself that same question since they had decided to do it, and she still wasn't sure of the answer. But she wasn't about to have the same argument again only to come up with the same damn conclusion that she had no other choice. "Yea, but do you really think we can trust other people to do it?"

"I've known Iggy for years now, and I'd trust him with my life," Fang said, "And he's known The Gasman since he was a kid, and if Iggy trusts him, then I trust him."

Max weighed the options in her head. They could continue to fail at coming up with ideas, or they could try with Fang's friends who might ruin everything or be the reason they complete the job. It's a huge risk that Max wasn't sure she could take. She had never even met the two men and here she was, trusting them with one of the biggest secrets she has ever had in her life.

"I want to meet them first," Max decided. "Then I'll see if we can trust them or not."

Fang smiled a genuine smile, which shocked Max a bit. She was so used to seeing emotionlessness from him; a grin was surprising.

"I'm sure they're at the bar right now," Fang said, stacking papers before standing. "We could just head over and see."

Max shook her head. "You just want to drink."

"They'll be there," Fang promised.

Everything in Max was screaming _bad idea, bad idea, bad idea_ but she stood anyways and followed Fang out of the apartment. Meeting them can't cause any risks, can it? They won't know anything about what Max and Fang were planning, they'd just see it as a friendly meeting. Or at least that's what Max was telling herself as she walked out of Fang's apartment.

When they arrived at the bar, Fang immediately made a beeline for a table in the middle of the room. A blonde man sat there, nursing a scotch and having a loud conversation with another blonde who looked a little younger, almost like a little brother. They both wore smiles and looked as if they'd never seen an injustice in their lives. Max smiled wistfully at them, wondering how they could look so carefree and happy.

Fang greeted the taller, older man first. "Iggy!" he called from across the bar.

Iggy's smile widened when he saw Fang, but not as much as his eyes widened when he saw Max. His smile faded a bit as the two approached his table, transforming into a gape. When Fang and Max reached him, he tried to disguise his shock and said, "Uh, hey, man. Good to see you."

Fang nodded at Iggy before looking over to the other man. "Hey, Gaz."

The Gasman nods back at Fang, eyes staying on Max the whole time. Both men seemed to be in awe of the woman, which was exactly how Max liked it. She knew her reputation, and apparently so did they.

"This is Max," Fang introduced, "Max, this is Iggy and Gazzy."

Max smiled a bit, making sure not to let any emotion shine through her eyes. She quickly swept her gaze up and down the two men, judging them.

Iggy wore a Batman t-shirt and worn jeans, and Gazzy wore nearly the same thing, except his shirt lacked the Batman insignia. Their smiles had not fallen from their faces, even after they were shocked by Max's entrance. After they had gotten over it, the grins had regained the happiness. They reminded Max of two little kids.

"Can we talk?" Fang asked after a moment of silence.

Iggy and Gazzy looked at each other before Iggy answered. "Yea, sure. Sit down."

After Fang and Max had been seated the silence returns. Nobody knew how to initiate the conversation. Finally, Iggy opened his mouth. "So, what's up? What'd you want to talk to us about?"

Fang didn't know what to say for a second. He couldn't tell them the truth yet, so he spluttered out, "I wanted to introduce you guys to Max."

Gazzy snorted. "What, are we your parents or something? Do we need to judge all of your girlfriends?"

Before anybody could say anything, Max interjected, "I am _not _his girlfriend."

Gazzy nodded, amusement in his eyes, but it was clear that he didn't believe her.

Iggy spoke next. "You seemed offended by that," his eyes held a spark of mischief, "Fang isn't that bad."

Max shrugged, not allowing herself to let her guard down and joke with them. She still had to decide whether she could trust them. "He's pretty annoying."

Iggy laughed at that while Fang made a sound of protest. "Isn't she just a ray of sunshine?" Iggy said after his laughter. "Is Sunshine down with having a beer?"

Max nodded, and a minute later, four beers were placed in front of the group. After the drinks were put in place, the atmosphere lost some of the awkwardness. Max's guard slipped a little, and she found herself enjoying the conversation.

She had lost track of time when she realized that she actually liked these two men. She could see herself becoming friends with them, and she could see why Fang trusted them. So she tapped Fang's shoulder and whispered, "You can tell them."

Fang smiled his second genuine smile for the day, and Max found herself returning it. Then she found herself ignoring Iggy's murmured, "Aren't dating my ass."

Max tuned out of Fang's invitation for the four of them to return to his apartment and instead swept her eyes across the bar. She didn't see anything out of the ordinary, nothing that set off her alarms, but that didn't mean nobody was watching.

She didn't stop looking around as they got up and exited the bar. Only when they were a few streets away did she allow herself to sink back into the conversation. The three men were talking about some big job that their friend J.J. had gotten, discussing how big of a splash it would make when she completed the job. Max didn't really care about the subject, but joined in nonetheless.

They kept the conversation up all the way to Fang's apartment. It didn't stop until Fang unlocked the door and the group stepped through the threshold. That's when Max and Fang went silent.

"We need to tell you something," Fang began, looking at Max to assure that she was still on board with telling the two men. "And we need you to listen."

For the first time since Max had met Iggy and Gazzy, their smiles dropped from their faces. "What is it?" Gazzy asked slowly, caution sinking into his words.

Fang doesn't answer immediately, so Max decided that it was her turn to speak up. She also decided that there was no point in beating around the bush. "We're going to kill Jeb and we need your help."

Silence shrouded the room. Emotion had dropped completely from both Iggy's and Gazzy's faces. They just stared at Max, and then after a minute, they stared at Fang.

"You broke them," Fang said, his voice light even though his jaw was tight with tension. He wanted to know what they're going to do, but being Fang, he couldn't show that.

Finally, Iggy spoke, "And why the hell are you doing that?"

Max crossed her arms before she said, "It's either him or us. And I choose us."

Iggy copied Max's posture. "I don't get more of an explanation than that?"

Max shook her head. "Not if you aren't going to help us."

"Alright, then I'm in." Gazzy's declaration shocked everybody.

Iggy turned and stared, stunned. "Gazzy, don't you want to talk about this a little more?"

Gazzy shrugged. "I've never been one to pass up a good challenge, and this is the best damn challenge I've ever seen."

The corners of Max's lips turned up a little bit when she looked at Gazzy. "Thanks, Gaz. I promise we'll tell you more later."

The Gasman nodded and then turned to stare at the other blonde. "It's your choice, man."

Iggy was silent for a few more moments before he sighed and said, "What the hell? I'm in. Now explain why you two have gone insane."

Max and Fang told the story quickly, not eager to dwell on the details. Iggy and Gazzy did not need to know everything. Especially not how Fang had carried Max home or the coffee they had shared the next morning. They got the gist from the main details.

And that's how they ended up all sitting on Fang's floor with papers scattered about them, planning on how to kill a man they had all known as their boss for years.

Even if their mission was morbid, the atmosphere was light. Iggy and Gazzy joked with each other constantly, not letting the mood slip below jovial for more than a minute. It was different than how Max and Fang had worked before, in silence with frustration veiling the room.

With the distraction Iggy and The Gasman were providing, it was easy for Max to stay silent. She could get lost in her thoughts without anybody noticing.

And the first thought that entered her mind was: _do I really want to kill him?_ It made her think. When she had become an orphan, Jeb had decided to become her father figure. She had been sixteen, terrified and angry, and with a new identity as a killer. She was confused and unwanted, and had just wanted for something to take away the pain.

Killing didn't do the trick, but it took the edge off. Whenever there was a new body lying on the floor, it helped because she could know for certain that it wasn't her father lying there. She hadn't just put a bullet through his head; this was just a random person who angered somebody with a lot of money. That always made her feel a bit better, but never completely full.

She didn't feel even remotely close to okay until _he_ came into her life. He swooped into her reality like a superhero, stealing the pain and unwanted feeling away with him and leaving love and happiness behind. Jeb had loved him, called him trustworthy, and said he was good for Max. And that was all Max had needed to trust him fully. If Jeb said he was good, then he must be. Jeb had said he was perfect.

And Max had agreed. That is, until _it_ happened. No, she isn't thinking about that. She took a deep breath as she struggled to suppress the memory. She hated remembering it, as it was easily the most painful experience of her life.

And Jeb still supported _him_ after it. Maybe that was why she didn't trust Jeb as much anymore. Maybe that's why it was so easy to kill him, or at least plan to kill him. Because no matter what he did, no matter how many high paying clients he got her, no matter how much space he let her have, she's always known how he supported the man who hurt her so badly more than her. It just sucked; she thought she had a real father. But no, she would never have somebody even closely comparing to a father. She knew that after the first time her biological father hurt her. The first time he carved into her, the first time he starved her, the first time he called her useless, the first time he didn't care when she ran away.

She killed him for a reason, after all.

And that's why she would kill Jeb. She was absolutely sure about it now. It was in the way she had never really questioned it, and the way she wanted Fang to stay safe. It was in the feeling in her chest. She knew that warm feeling wouldn't be there unless she was sure she wouldn't have to hurt Fang. And not hurting Fang means hurting Jeb.

"Max!" it was Fang's voice that shocked her from her thoughts. "Are you alright?"

Max bit her lip. "Yea," she replied, even though she didn't know if she was lying or not. "I'm fine."


	8. The Choice

**Hi guys!**

**So this update is a week late. Technically, I owe you another chapter, but oh well. The next one will be up next weekend. And I'm on vacation this week, so I'll make sure it's ready. **

**This chapter is okay. I don't hate it, but I'm not a fan of how I wrote the end. I'm also too lazy to fix it. **

**Other than that, there's nothing to say. **

**Read and review!**

The bar was one of the most comforting places for Max. She had known it long before she had been legally able to drink, and she was relaxed there. Fang, Iggy, and Gazzy liked it too, but not because of Max's reason. They liked to drink.

That's why they had chosen to take their break at the bar. That and nobody wanted the slightly warm beers that Iggy insisted on having four of.

Max felt a little differently when she entered the bar. Sure, it still felt like a home, but there was something off. Maybe it was because she knew she had to kill the man who brought her here. Or maybe it was because she hadn't entered alone. Either way, she still had to take a deep breath to feel completely at ease in the familiar place. And that bothered. Everything in her life had changed, and she had depended on this place to stay the same. Of course she couldn't have that.

But she still felt happy when she sat down and got used to the strange feeling that came with being in the bar. She watched as Fang and Iggy bet Gazzy that he couldn't drink a ridiculous amount of alcohol with a small smile on her face. She rolled her eyes whenever they looked at her, but it was done good naturedly. She genuinely enjoyed being with these people.

"Chug, chug, chug," Gazzy chanted excitedly. He reminded Max of a young child; eager to experience the world even though he knew what it held. It was kind of refreshing to see an optimist.

She joined in on the conversation at some points, but was content observing most of the time. Everybody was enjoying themselves. Max even saw a grin on Fang's lips a few times.

A cocky smirk was playing on his lips when he turned to Max and passed her a shot.

"Really?" Max asked skeptically. "You want to do shots?"

Fang shrugged, but the smirk didn't drop from his face. "Why not?"

"Maybe because I've gotten trashed too many times this week already," Max pointed out, holding back an eye roll.

"Or maybe it's because you're scared."

It was a cheap shot, and Max shouldn't have gone for it. But as soon as the words left Fang's mouth, a steely glint entered Max's eyes and she set her jaw. "I'm not scared."

Fang's smirk grew. "Sure."

Without a word, Max picked up the shot and downed it. "I'm not," she said, holding up the empty shot glass as proof.

Fang's only response was to down his own drink.

It became a competition after that. Fang would swallow a shot, and Max would answer with another. It continued until they were both drunk and giggling, leaning on each other for support so they wouldn't topple from their chairs. They were so drunk that they forgot they had to be paranoid. That's why Max missed the eyes that followed her every move. That's why she didn't do something about it.

And of course this came back to bite her in the ass as soon as she tries to leave with the rest of her drunken friends.

"Max?" the voice shocked Max. She already had one foot out the door, and had just expected to leave, pass out on Fang's couch, wake up and regret everything in the morning, and continue on with her life. Why was there an obstacle in the very first step? "Max, what are you doing?"

It took Max a second to turn without falling. She had to use Iggy's arm to help, and still managed to stumble and nearly tumble face first into a table. She saw the speaker as soon as she turned. It was a woman with ebony skin, black, corkscrew hair, and chocolate brown eyes. She was flanked by two other women, who were too out of focus for Max to look closely at. All she could concentrate on was the woman directly in front of her and the fact that her vision was spinning a bit.

"Nudge!" Max exclaimed, excitement clear in her voice. "How are you? Do you still talk a lot?"

Nudge rolled her eyes and placed a hand on her hip. "Max, what are you doing?" There was a bit of disappointment in her voice as she surveyed the situation.

"Leaving," Max said, gesturing to the door.

"With them?"

Max furrowed her eyebrows. Why did Nudge care that she was leaving with her friends? Her drunken mind was too busy making her vision spin to actually think about that. "Yea. Why?"

Concern and disappointment made Nudge's lips turn down. "Max, I thought you were done going home with random guys?"

Laughter began to bubble out of Max's mouth, but before she could speak, one of the other women speaks. She had a head full of blonde curls the framed a pale face and blue eyes. She was small and looked angelic, despite her profession. "We're taking you home."

"What?" Max began to protest, but she was cut off again, this time by the third woman.

"Please don't argue with us," the Hispanic woman said, "Just come on."

They proceeded to loop arms around Max to insure she didn't topple over, and lead her out of the bar. While they walked, Max placed the third woman. She had dark hair and eyes paired with tan skin.

"Ella, come on. I wasn't going to do anything bad," Max complained, her voice a whine.

"Shush, Max."

Jutting her bottom lip out, Max crossed her arms and glared at the three women around her. They ignored her until they entered a taxi.

Nudge informed the driver where she lived and they began to whiz through the streets.

"Max," Ella said the words gently, as if she were talking to a child. And talking to a drunken Max essentially was talking to a child. "What were you going to do with those guys?"

Max shrugged. "Plan, probably."

Ella's head tilted to the side as confusion entered her eyes. "What do you mean by plan?" She already had a good idea. Assassins usually worked alone, but there were exceptions. Normally, only two worked together, so four was a stretch, but it wasn't unbelievable.

"How to kill Jeb!" Max nearly giggled when she said the words.

The taxi driver's eyes flitted up to the mirror so he could look at the women, but he didn't comment. That didn't stop everybody besides Max from seeing the panic in his eyes. They would deal with that later.

"Max," the words are growled out through gritted teeth, "do not say another word until we get home." Just speaking about killing somebody as powerful as Jeb could get you spoken to. And spoken to meant either tortured or killed. You were lucky if it was the latter.

The remainder of the ride was silent. Nobody dared to speak, Ella, Angel, and Nudge because they feared somebody would hear something they weren't supposed to, and Max because she was afraid she was going to vomit if she opened her mouth.

Max exited the car first when they reached Nudge's house. She didn't notice, but Angel slipped the driver an extra fifty to keep his mouth shut about what he heard.

It was a struggle to get Max into the house and sitting on the couch. She kept stopping to wobble and nearly trip, or to admire something that as simple as a particularly pretty paint color on a wall. But eventually they made it, and Max was seated and quiet.

Nudge was the first to speak. "I thought you were done going home with guys, Max. I thought you realized how stupid it was and how it wasn't going to fix whatever it is he broke inside of you. I thought you were smarter than to go home with _three _guys!"

Max's eyes had narrowed slowly as Nudge's voice had risen. So by the end of Nudge's reprimand she was nearly shouting and Max's eyes were narrowed to slits.

"Don't you ever talk about him." Max's voice was deadly calm. It didn't matter that she was drunk; any mention of _him _was always enough to get to her. Her giggly, happy, drunken demeanor had dissipated in less than a minute. It would return; her angry episodes only lasted for short bursts when she was drunk. The three women knew that too.

But Nudge still took a step back. No matter how long she had known Max, or how good their friendship was, she was still very aware of how dangerous Max was. Nudge wasn't worried about Max hurting her – she never lashed out when she was drunk – but it was instinctual to step away. Almost like when a caged snake lunged forward suddenly. People jumped anyways.

"I'm sorry."

In a matter of seconds, Max's grin was back on her face. "It's okay."

Silence shrouded the room for a moment while the three sober women decided if Max was done with her anger. When they agreed that she was, Ella spoke. "Max, do you want to explain why you're planning to kill Jeb?" Her tone was condescending, as if she was a teacher speaking to a student.

"I don't want to die!" Max said, as if that cleared it all up. "And Fang doesn't want to die. And now that Iggy and Gazzy are with us, they probably don't want to die either. So we have to kill Jeb."

Angel and Nudge shared a look of exasperation, but Ella just continued to speak. "Why would you die if you didn't kill Jeb?"

Max furrowed her eyebrows and pursed her lips, as if the question required a lot of thought. "I got a job. I was supposed to kill Fang, but I couldn't. So we decided that Jeb had to go."

"Why couldn't you finish the job?" Ella asked, ignoring the whispering coming from her friends.

"I just couldn't," Max tells Ella as if that was an explanation. Then, she waited to see if the sober woman was going to speak again. When she didn't, Max said, "I'm tired."

As soon as the words had exited her mouth, she curled up on the couch and started snoring.

The other three women were left wide awake and confused. How had Max failed? She was the best; she didn't fail. And her explanation was that she couldn't? A killer doesn't just get cold feet. Every assassin had to be comfortable with murder. Max certainly was. So why couldn't she just finish her damn job?

It wasn't like they could find out anything more than facts when Max woke up. Drunken Max was confusing and annoying, but she was honest. Sober Max was cold and closed off; she would never give anything other than facts unless it was needed. Her feelings were always off limits.

"Do you think she's telling the truth?" Nudge asked after they were positive Max was asleep.

"She is," Ella replied, "That's her fatal flaw. Give her a bottle of tequila and she'll spill her guts."

Nudge and Angel began a heated discussion about what to do if Max really was planning to kill Jeb and why she even wanted to do so, but Ella stayed silent. She knew Max's motives.

She knew the whole story, not just the little clips Max had given the other girls. She knew how Jeb had reacted after _it_ happened, and how Max had been devastated. She knew how Jeb had sided with _him. _She knew everything.

Ella was just unsure of her opinion on the matter. Should she have helped Max? Should she have informed Jeb of the possible threat? Should she have just stood by and let whatever happened happen? She had no idea who she wanted to betray.

And that was what was making her decision so difficult. It was the fact that she had to hurt somebody, betray someone, to get through this.

That was the question, she decided as Nudge and Angel argued. Who could she live without?

Because her decision would affect who lived, that was certain. If she told Jeb, he'd put a price on Max's and Fang's heads, or maybe just go to kill them himself. If she helped Max, the biggest father figure in her life would most likely die, and it would be partly her fault. She knew it would be difficult, but Jeb would not survive a fight against seven trained assassins. He could try, God knew he wouldn't go down without a fight, but Ella knew that his efforts would be wasted.

So that was the question. Who did she want to live, Jeb or Max?

She imagined a life without Jeb. It was sad for a little while. People mourned the loss of the only leader they had ever known, but then somebody else stepped into the power and life went on. Ella was sad for a while. She cried for a while. She remembered her father for a while. But she moved on. People like her were experts on moving on.

Then her mind switched tracks, and Max had died. It was awful. Ella saw herself becoming what she hated most; a cold blooded killer. Sure, she was an assassin. She has killed more people than she'd like to admit. But that didn't mean she slept well at night. No, instead she tossed and turned and dreamt of everybody that had ever died at her hands. That's what Max's death did to her. It made her uncaring, it made her deadly. It made her everything she didn't want to be. She saw more people than her suffering from similar consequences. She saw Nudge and Angel with bags under their eyes and dripping knives in their hands. She saw those men Max had been with, even though she didn't know them. She saw them sad and alone. The one time she had been around them they had been wearing goofy grins. Now, in her mind, they were weighed down by straight, grim faces. No matter how far into the future Ella went, she only saw grief and mourning.

And that's what answered her question. Ella chose.

And she chose her sister.


	9. The Team

**Hi guys. **

**So... I suck. It's been more than a month since I last updated, even though I promised I would update every weekend. And I could tell you guys that I've been super busy (which I have been, we're going to nationals for soccer and training is a bitch) but it's no excuse. I should have found time to update. **

**So, feel free to be mad at me. But at least this chapter is sort of long and not terrible. **

**I have nothing really to say, besides the fact that I have no idea when the next update is coming. I'll make sure it's before the end of the month, and I'll be writing essays for school all tomorrow, so maybe I'll get bored with that and write a chapter for this instead. Who knows?**

**Anyways, read and review!**

Max was sick of waking up with a hangover. How many times could she overestimate her ability to handle her alcohol? That was what, her second day in a row waking up with nausea and a pounding headache? How stupid was she?

This was also the second day in a row she was waking up to see a foreign place. She was getting tired of that, too.

It took her a moment, but she did recognize where she was. The sappy artwork on the walls and the warm atmosphere alerted Max that she was at Nudge's house. She eyed the flowers on the coffee table warily, and wondered how a woman who could kill a man without batting an eyelash couldn't bear to see her flowers wither.

"Nudge?" Max called out slowly, wincing at her own shout.

A second after the shout, Max heard a set of footsteps to her right. They were coming from the master bedroom. She heard two more coming from the hallway to her left, which was where the guest bedrooms were located. Max knew this for a fact; she didn't spend more than a few minutes in a place that she didn't know the floorplan of, much less an entire night.

Nudge appeared a minute before Angel and Ella. "Hey, Max," she said groggily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"What happened last night?" Max asked, cutting straight to the chase. "How much did I drink?"

"A lot," Angel replied, a disapproving look on her face. "So much that you were about to go home with three guys."

Max groaned. "I wasn't going to sleep with them." She looked up at the other women, only to see whatever-you-say expressions. "Seriously, I wasn't."

Ella raised her eyebrows. Max might not remember last night, but Ella did. And Ella remembered how Max was leaning all over the dark haired man, how she wouldn't take her eyes off of him. She believed her sister wasn't trying to go home with all three of the men, but she wasn't sure that Max was going to end up alone if they hadn't taken her home.

"So what were you doing?" Nudge asked, still not fully believing her friend.

Max sighed. "I don't want to involve you in this mess."

Silence took over the room as Ella, Nudge, and Angel exchanged looks. Max obviously did not remember their conversation last night. She didn't remember telling them about her plan to kill Jeb. If they really wanted to, they could pretend it never happened and continue their lives. They could escape now, stay safe and pretend to be unaware. The question was if they wanted to.

Ella ended up being the one to break the silence. "You already did."

It took a minute for Max to reply, but when she did, her voice was tense and her eyes were wide. "What did I say last night?"

Ella took a deep breath. "You told us about not being able to finish a job." She didn't say any more than that; she didn't know how to continue.

It was silent for another minute, tension shrouded the room, before Angel bluntly said, "And you told us about how you and others are planning to kill Jeb."

Max's reaction wasn't what the women expected. They had anticipated anger or sadness, an emotion that was easy to explain and easy to react to. What they hadn't predicted was for Max to sigh and calmly ask, "What are you going to do about it?"

Nobody knew how to respond. Angel was staring off into a wall, her lip nearly bleeding from how hard her teeth were pressing into it. Nudge was lost in thought; she'd open her mouth and then close it again, rethinking whatever it was she was about to say. Ella, on the other hand, was too stunned to do anything.

It wasn't necessarily that Max's composure had shocked her, it was what was hiding behind that calm façade. Max always retreated back to her mask of coolness when she didn't want anybody to know what she was thinking. Ella had always been the one person who could see straight past the mask. And that didn't change now. It was what was behind the disguise that scared her.

Max looked defeated. She looked as if she didn't even care what the other women decided. Nudge and Angel might not have seen it, but Ella did, and it broke her heart. She could have dealt with it if she had seen anger or sadness, but she had no clue how to work with defeat. She had never seen Max like this. Well, not since _it_ happened. And she wasn't going to let her sister go through a series of awful choices in order to get over that feeling.

So she did the one thing she thought could help.

"I'm going to help you."

Max's gaze flew up to Ella's face. That look of defeat hadn't disappeared, but it had lessened considerably. And that was enough for Ella, at least for the moment. She couldn't bear to see her sister like that. The last time she had seen it, the woman her sister had been vanished for a long time. Max hid behind alcohol and random men and killing. And Ella sure as hell wasn't going to let that happen again.

"Thanks, El," Max said quietly, a small smile lighting her face.

Ella returned the smile. It was a simple gesture, but Max knew exactly what she was saying. The smile told her that she would do anything for her sister. The smile told her that Ella would never turn her back on her.

Nearly a minute after Ella had spoken, Nudge blurts out, "I want to help, too. I can't see you get hurt, Max." She paused for a moment. "Plus, who really needs Jeb anyways?"

Max thanked her friend before they all turned to Angel.

The blonde took the stares without wavering. She met everybody's gazes with an even stare. On the outside, it looked like she was calm; like she had everything figured out. On the inside, her brain was whirring at one million miles per second. She had no clue what she wanted to do. Teaming up to kill an insanely good assassin is one thing, Angel wasn't afraid of that. If anything, she was tempted by the challenge. It was the fact that it was the boss that threw her off. If they did this, a once calm and organized society of assassins would be thrown into turmoil, at least for a little while. And it would be her fault.

Angel pursed her lips as she thought. Was it worth it? She could just leave now, stand by and pretend she knew nothing. She knew Max wouldn't blame her. But it would affect their relationship. Deep down, Max would feel a little betrayed. And Angel could deal with that. She's dealt with plenty of her relationships falling apart before.

But as she looked out at her three best friends, she realized she didn't want that to happen. She didn't want a schism to form between them. Maybe Jeb's death would cause upheaval, but she could deal with it. These thoughts were why she smiled a bit and simply said, "I'm in."

"Thank you," Max said, her voice low.

Nobody acknowledged her thanks; how they felt went without saying. Besides, they had already agreed to a job that might possibly get them killed. Max assumed they knew how grateful she was without the thanks.

Nudge was the one to break the silence, of course, with her inability to keep quiet for long. "We should eat breakfast."

There were various murmurs of agreement before the foursome made their way to the kitchen. Nudge quickly made breakfast, and in ten minutes that went by much too quickly for Max, they were all sitting at the table and looking at Max expectantly.

Max knew they wanted to hear more details about the case. Why wouldn't they? But that was why she felt so uncomfortable while she sat there; she had nothing to give them. So far, Fang and she had found next to nothing on how to kill Jeb. Iggy and Gazzy helped, gave them more options, but there was nothing even remotely solid yet. They were grasping at straws.

Ella seemed to realize that they weren't going to get anything from Max. She knew her sister too well to misread the obvious signs. It was in the way she wouldn't meet anybody's eyes. She looked scared to even initiate conversation. So Ella went in another direction.

"Who's Fang?"

All three pairs of eyes flashed to the Hispanic woman. Nudge's showed exposed interest, while Angel's curiosity was thinly veiled. Even if they had wanted to know about the actual case, this was also extremely fascinating.

Max sighed and chewed her last bite of eggs slowly before answering. "He's an assassin." The words were said reluctantly, even though they were next to no information.

"No shit." Even though the situation was serious, everybody laughed at Angel's comment. "Elaborate."

"I was supposed to kill him," Max paused, writing a script in her head. "I didn't." She said every single word very carefully. The conversation was a minefield, and she had no intention of exploding.

"I don't want to hear about that," Ella's smirk was devious, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I want to hear about what's going on between you two."

"Nothing," Max said flatly.

Nudge scoffed. "It didn't look like nothing last night. You were all over him."

"I was drunk," Max pointed out. "You guys know what I'm like when I'm drunk."

They did know what she was like when she was intoxicated. She was very open with her emotions and brutally honest. When drunk, it was easy to tell what was going through Max's head. And it was rare people even had to guess what she was thinking, she usually just said it outright. A drunken Max had no filter. A drunken Max also slept with anything that had a pulse and was willing. But she was almost professional about it. Sex was a distraction for her, nothing more, and nothing less. She just wanted to escape her own thoughts. When she disappeared with a man, she was very careful, no matter how drunk she was. That isn't what Nudge, Ella, and Angel witnessed last night.

They saw Max being giggly and nervous. They saw her acting like a middle school girl with a crush. That meant that she didn't just want sex. She wouldn't have been acting like that if she just wanted to stop thinking for a little while.

"And you were definitely drunk," Angel muttered under her breath.

Ella snorted at the blonde's comment before speaking. "You weren't acting like you usually do with your hookups. You were acting like you had a crush."

Max shook her head before turning back to her food. "No, I was acting like I was drunk."

Nudge made some comment about being drunk in love that made Ella laugh, which got the other two women to smile a bit. And in a minute or two, all four women were giggling about nothing in particular.

But the moment couldn't last forever.

Angel left first, claiming she had a job to finish before she could take up a new one. Apparently she had to kill some cheating businessman who pissed off his partner. Most of her jobs were like that. Her girlish, innocent looks made men trust her. That was her strategy; lure men into bed and then slit their throats, simple and quick.

Max and Ella left together. They caught a cab, which they hadn't done since their lives had been torn apart. As they climbed into the taxi, a vision of Ella sobbing in the back seat while Max stared blankly ahead flashed in Max's mind, but she pushed it away. It happened years ago; she didn't need to think of it.

"Do you want to come back to my place?" Max asked once they were seated comfortably.

An evil glint entered Ella's eyes. "I want to meet Fang."

"I can't just show up at his apartment!" Max protested, even though she knew Fang wouldn't mind if she knocked on his door right now.

"Something about the way he was with you last night tells me he wouldn't mind," Ella replies, mischief in her smile.

Max sighed but gave the cab driver Fang's address anyways, along with a few extra dollars. Max's memories of the previous night were hazy, but she was pretty sure this was the same cab driver. And if she remembered correctly, she spilled tequila in his cab last night, and he probably had to clean it up. No, never mind. It's still on the seat. Still fresh, actually.

They stayed silent as they drove through the city. They both had too much on their minds to talk.

Neither of them spoke as they walked through Fang's apartment building either. Max was dreading how Fang was going to react and Ella was too excited to meet the man.

When they reached the right apartment, Max only had to knock three times before Fang opened the door.

"Max?" he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What are you doing here?" his eyes flickered over to Ella. "And who is this?"

Max's lips turned up into a tight smile. "This is Ella."

Ella stuck her hand out to be shook. For a second, Fang just grimaced at it, but took it and shook it firmly. After, Ella pretended not to notice how quickly he withdrew his hand.

"Uh, you can come in," Fang said, stepping away so the two women could enter. Ella walked in first, and as Max followed, Fang leaned close and whispered, "We need to talk."

Tensely, Max nodded. She knew Fang would have questions. She just didn't know if she was prepared to answer them.

Once they were all awkwardly standing around in Fang's apartment, Ella opened her mouth. "So this is the man that got you to make one of the stupidest decisions you've ever made." Ella's eyes swept up and down Fang's figure, judging him. "I kind of see why now."

Immediately after Ella finished speaking, Fang growled, "You told her?"

Max raised her hands up in surrender. "It's not my fault I get chatty when I'm drunk."

Fang rubbed a hand over his face before he attempted to fix his bedraggled hair. "So what's she going to do about it?"

Ella replied before Max could. "I'm going to help. Same with Nudge and Angel."

Fang turned to Max again. "How many people did you tell?"

Max held up three fingers almost sheepishly.

"Why didn't you just waltz into Jeb's office and tell him yourself?" Fang muttered under his breath. Then, in a louder voice, he said, "I want to talk to Max. Privately."

Max allowed herself to be dragged into the bedroom so Ella wouldn't be able to eavesdrop. She loved her little sister, but if there was one thing that Ella was, it was mischievous.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Fang hissed as soon as the door was closed.

"I wasn't," Max replied, her voice tense. Maybe she made a bad choice, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let Fang lecture her like he was her father. "But it's done, and there's nothing we can do about it."

Fang stared at her, emotions battling in his chest. There was anger, which was strong, but it had to contend with the stupid warm feeling that was always present now. He still hadn't figured out what it was, all he knew was that it got stronger when he got close to Max.

Finally, he settled on just sighing and saying, "You're lucky I'm too hungover to deal with this."

When they reentered the room, Ella is standing there. She looked small in the big space. It should have put Fang at ease, seeing somebody who seemed so timid, but it didn't. He knew it was a strategy that assassins like Ella used. If you're not scared of somebody, you won't be prepared when they try to slit your throat.

"I think we should call everybody over," Ella suggested after a moment of silence. "If we're going to do this, then we might as well start now."

Fang's eyes met Max's. They stared at each other for a second, trying to communicate without saying anything out loud. A few seconds passed before Fang sighed and relented. "Yea, fine."

Ella smiled smugly, as if this had been her plan all along, which it probably had been. "I'll call Nudge and Angel."

Fang let out another annoyed sigh, but grabbed his phone to call Iggy and Gazzy nonetheless.

"We just have to wait for them now," Fang said when he hung up with Gazzy.

Iggy was the first to arrive. He entered the room, his always present smile on his face, and let his eyes trail across everybody in the room. "Fangles!" he greeted before he saw Max, "And Sunshine!" Max rolled her eyes at the nickname but smiled at him anyways. And then his eyes landed on Ella. "And who is this?"

Protectiveness swelled up in Max's chest when she saw how Iggy eyed Ella. Sure, she liked him, but anybody who looked at her little sister like that was not going to win themselves any points with Max.

"Ella," Max said curtly, sending a glare his way, "My little sister."

Iggy didn't notice Max's death stare; he was too busy looking at Ella. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, a grin on his face. "I'm Iggy."

Ella smiled at the man. She was flattered that he was actually paying her any attention. Men generally gravitated towards Max. Her aura of mystery and good looks drew them in, usually leaving Ella forgotten. It was nice to get some of the attention.

Somewhere along the way Ella and Iggy had stepped closer to each other, and were now only a foot or so apart. Max was looking on with a face that could turn a man to stone. She was about to say something about the unnecessary proximity when somebody else cleared their throat.

"Jesus," Gazzy said from his place in the doorway. He had one eyebrow raised and a look of mock annoyance on his face. "Do we really need another couple? Aren't Max and Fang already enough?"

Max was about to protest when yet another somebody spoke up.

"Apparently not." Angel was standing a step behind Gazzy, her blonde hair framing her face and making her look like a cherub.

Looking at the pair now, Max wondered how she didn't see their similarities before. They shared the same blonde hair and blue eyes, and tall, thin frames. They had similar bone structures and carried themselves in the same manner. If Max thought Iggy and Gazzy looked like brothers, Gazzy and Angel looked like twins.

The interruption had forced Iggy and Ella to step apart, which relaxed Max a bit. Her instinct to protect Ella from anything and everything was screaming at her, telling her that being with an assassin is only going to get her hurt, maybe even as hurt as Max was with – no. She wasn't going to think about that.

Silence had taken over while Max had gotten lost in her thoughts. Angel broke it by crossing the threshold and speaking, "Well, I'm Angel and I'll be dealing with all of you for however long it takes for this to play out."

Gazzy followed her example and introduced himself. "I'm The Gasman, Gazzy for short. And I like fire."

Max rolled her eyes but she was smiling now. She felt comfortable around these people. Safe, almost.

Nudge arrived after a few minutes, and slipped right into the conversation. Max thought that bringing everybody together would make it almost like middle school; with all the boys staying on one side and the girls on another. But they all seemed to know each other already with the way they talked and interacted with one another. There was no awkward period where nobody knew what to say. It was comfortable.

And as they sat and talked and laughed and planned, Max knew she made the right choice.


End file.
